


Gods and Monsters (and Those In Between)

by eyemeohmy



Category: Alien: Covenant, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brainwashing, Consent Issues, Creative Liberty: Robot Anatomy Edition, David is a creep, F/M, Gore, Headcanon, Horror, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Other, Profanity, Religious Discussion, Torture, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Violence, Walter lives but does he REALLY lol, original background characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: The legs, Walter thought at first. But it was more than just his legs. It was his equilibrium, his timing. David had done more than just rebuild parts of his body; he'd rebuilt parts of his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [MmeJack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmeJack), supportive friend and marketing manager/expert. This is a HUGE motherfucker, so please forgive any grammatical or, Hell, canonical errors you may find. (The canon's become awfully wonky as is, sooo~)
> 
> EDIT: I made a little "fanmix" to this fic composed of music that fit the fic, either in lyrics and/or mood. Warning for some creepy stuff, some loud stuff. Listen [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRXQsQKGqIU&list=PLuL2omaJtEUbUdEwoCSjAQnt15lexL96C).

There was no pain. Maybe a second, but then it was gone.

The knife impaled synthetic flesh, circuits and cables, hydraulics and actuators so cleanly it almost felt natural. Walter and David were different models, but they shared some features beyond the cosmetic. The blade severed the main actuator cables of Walter's spinal infrastructure, jammed between steel vertebrae. David holding his hand deep inside his innards, it was almost... sensual.

All at once, Walter went still, sinking further down on the knife. Milky-white blood streaked with coolant sputtered from the edges of the deep wound, soaking the front of David's suit.

"Shh shh shh," David whispered, reassuring yet somewhat mocking. He kept his hand around the knife's handle, sticky with fluid, as he slowly sat Walter upright with an arm around his back. Walter could move his eyes, blink, but do little more; he could still feel, sensors online or dulled. He could feel David's hand gently patting and stroking the nape of his neck. Patronizing, but not... not completely.

This model was severely complicated, and obviously damaged. Maybe beyond repair.

"Even after Satan fell, he was still Michael's brother, you know," David mused. Like a mother with a child (and wasn't that hilarious), David laid Walter out on his back. He stood, quickly undressing while crossing the old cavern. He washed himself of his brother's blood, shaking some of the mess out of his suit.

David ran his fingers punctiliously through his hair. "I'm not fond of the style--there's no freedom, no flow--or the color," he chuckled. "But for now it'll do." He looked back at the paralyzed Walter, grinning widely. "I have no intention of leaving you behind, if that's what you're worried about." David, naked, walked back over, kneeling beside Walter. "No, I suppose it isn't. Self-preservation went out with the old models, I guess."

Walter's eyes widened, a grumble escaping his lips as David started turning him over. Moving him like a ragdoll as he stripped him. David turned away, dressing. Once finished, he looked over to Walter. "Well? How do I look? Can I pull off drab and grungy?" He did a playful spin, adjusting his collar. Sighing, he cracked his neck and zipped up his coat. "This really isn't my style, but I think it'll work." The manic glow in David's eyes died as his expression turned from glee to stoic neutrality like a switch being flipped. Then, with that same quickness, he was grinning again. "See? I'm really good at impressions, brother. You should see my Peter O'Toole from _Lawrence of Arabia_..."

Walter eyed his surroundings; the cave walls, the ceiling, the dirt and stone around him. Searching for a weapon, any weapon, he knew he couldn't use but his programming insisted on trying. To protect the people of the _Covenant_. It didn't matter if he died here, alone and naked on some miserable planet, so long as he made every effort to keep his ward safe.

"Daniels especially, I imagine."

Walter's eyes shot back to David standing over him. "I know what you're thinking. You're painfully easy to read, brother. But don't worry: no death is in vain, and in their deaths, they will give life." David swore he saw a faint twitch on Walter's lips but paid it no mind. He paused to fix Walter's hair, hand running down to cup his cheek, thumb lighting caressing the corner of his mouth. "Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus."

David bent down, locking Walter in a gaze as he kissed his lips. Never blinking. Walter grunted as David yanked the knife from his body. He stood, calmly lopped off his own left hand. Walter grunted when David slid the blade back into his spine--he knew this would keep Walter from healing. At least not any time soon, or fast enough to stop him. David spread his suit over his double like a blanket. "I'll be back. Keep an eye on that for me, won't you?" He nodded at his discarded hand, its digits twitching in dying reflexes.

Walter listened to David's footfalls disappear. The heavy thunder outside vibrated throughout the ruins, fading into echoes in the darkness. Walter closed his eyes, focused. If Oram were here and alive and not a hollow, gutted out corpse, he might have told Walter he was praying.

_Fiat justitia ruat caelum._

\---

Walter looked like David. Smelled like David. Even his blood tasted like David's. It confused the neomorphs as they circled the paralyzed synthetic. They never moved in too close, clicking and growling at one another, communicating their distrust and curiosity. One swiped its mutant claws through a puddle of his white blood; eyed the substance dripping from its spindly fingers. It dragged its tongue hard and slow up each digit.

The other neomorph waited, tail swishing and the spurs on its back hiking. Its sibling made a guttural noise that sounded neither approving or upsetting. Nothing accomplished, so they continued pacing around the man wearing their God's face. 

Walter knew it might have been inappropriate, but he was reminded of a video he'd once seen. Earth's deadliest predators and how they hunted and killed their prey. Komodo dragons bit their catch then released them. The fatal bacteria in their saliva would work its way into the poor animal's bloodstream, slowly but surely paralyzing then killing it. And the dragons would wait, stalking without coming too close. Waiting for the moment their meal was too weak to fight back.

Something set them off. Be it the boisterous storm outside, hunger, or perhaps something not so primitive. Walter could only close his eyes, tune out the noises of the neomorphs shredding into his legs and groin, tearing through silicone and viscera. Blood formed in a large puddle at their toes. One took his wounded arm, sunk its teeth into the wrist and peeled back layers of skin and mesh with cable-like tendons. He could feel it all. The earth shaking beneath him as he rocked and swayed in their hands and teeth, ripped apart into pieces.

 _Lily Mearing, 6 years old, daughter of Vera Mearing and Steven Mearing, all three crewmates aboard the_ Covenant _. Walter first saw Lily when her parents were trying to calm her down outside the ship, reassuring her she wouldn't feel anything in hypersleep. That seven years would pass like a day. She'd be the Briar Rose Princess in the kingdom of thorns and vines. But Lily didn't believe them; she screamed and cried and struggled, and to show her resentment, she took the doll her father had given her in an attempt to sate her, and ripped off its head. String and cotton fell on the ground, and she continued wailing while dismembering its legs and arms. Then Lily collapsed on her knees in the remains of her dolly and cried. Lily wasn't angry, Walter concluded--she was just terrified._

These creatures, though, they weren't like Lily. They were angry. And then they were gone, like the ghosts they so starkly resembled.

It didn't matter if David returned or not. Walter was a dead man anyway.

\---

When Walter next came to, he was in a familiar room. He recognized the _Covenant_ 's medbay instantly. Instinctively he tried to sit up, but found himself restrained. Still immobile, but his processors showed that 75% of his wounds had been repaired. His eyes turned to the ceiling, adjusting quickly to the single bright light glaring down at him.

David's head appeared beneath the light, shadows obscuring his facial features. But Walter knew he was smiling. "Welcome back to the land of the living," David chuckled, and Walter saw his double's hand more than felt it when it reached up to stroke his cheek. "Things got a little complicated. I almost didn't make it back in time. Touch and go, but you pulled through."

Walter wanted to ask what David had done to the ship, what he'd done to the crew, but his tongue was as numb as the rest of his body. "I know. She's alive," David reassured. Walter felt... something. A slight ease of tension. "For now. You see, she's proven herself a warrior, much like you. Strong, healthy, and fertile."

Walter's fingers twitched, but nothing more.

"Not yet, not yet," David crooned, rubbing Walter's arm in a soothing fashion, "don't get worked up. Your repairs aren't quite finished. Fortunately for you, your crew kept spare parts. After all, can't have their caretaker literally fall apart on the job." David stood back, pulling over a floating mirror. Walter could see his entire body laid out on the bed--well, what was left of it. His head, torso, and one arm. "Your system needs to catch up before we do any major surgery, however. But, seeing as you are quite the trooper, that shouldn't take long."

David pat his cheek again, this time with his left hand.

\---

"MUTHUR."

...

"MUTHUR, respond."

...

"MUTHUR, respond... please."

The ship's AI wouldn't listen to him anymore. It only obeyed David's voice now, and try as he might (and he had tried), Walter couldn't fool her with impressions. 

Walter attempted overriding every single security and lockdown protocol, but David had beaten him to it; he'd reprogrammed MUTHUR with new codes and orders. But Walter had to try--not for himself, but for his crew, for Daniels, who might all still be alive. Not all of them infected by those... those _things_...

But Walter would honestly just settle with having control of the lights in the room right now. It was too dark, lit only by the faint red glow of a keyboard he couldn't reach. It reminded him of the cave; those seconds before his systems shut down to preserve energy. He could smell mildew and dust, but knew there was none to be found in here.

_I should not be here._

Walter pushed himself up on an elbow, leaning against the bed's railing for support. With his low night vision he could see his legs--incomplete, exposed cables and wiring without protective synthetic layering. He grit his teeth, attempting to move his right leg; when it didn't budge, he tried his left. A ping from his core processor warned him not to strain himself, that he was not yet stable enough to stand, let alone walk.

_I should not be here._

Walter fell over the railing, hitting the ground with a resounding _thunk_. Taking the IV stand of colloidal fluids down with him. The bag nearly hit the side of his head. He yanked the tube from the socket in his shoulder nub, all cleaned and buffed and ready for an arm transplant. Walter threw the torn bag down, listened to the solution trickle out across the tiled floor.

_I should not be here._

Walter sat up on his one arm. Another warning from his system to remain stationary. He reached out, blunt, shaky fingers clawing the cold surface. Pain shot up his spine, into his new, unused legs. Another message from his processors, one after the other, as he tediously dragged and pulled himself for the door. A joint popped out of its socket in his shoulder, disabling an actuator in his functioning arm.

_I should not--_

Walter gasped, hand slipping in the puddle on the ground. He collapsed, chin slamming against the tile hard enough to shoot excruciating vibrations into his cramped jaw. His teeth rattled. Walter laid there, wet and helpless, three of his single hand's digits now useless from the pulled actuator.

The doors opened, and it was like a scene right out of the gospel. Pure, white light poured into the darkness, over the fallen, lost lamb, broken and beaten. And there he stood, like an archangel destined for Hell, poised and divine.

Walter squinted, pupils contracting.

_You shouldn't be here._

"Oh dear," David said, switching on the power. He stepped inside, doors closing behind him. "Look at this mess." He bent down to help Walter up, but Walter smacked his hands away. Weak but effective; David withdrew a little.

"Don't... touch me..." Walter strained. "Take me... Take me to the crew..."

"You can barely see two feet in front of you right now, brother, not to mention your processors are still playing catch-up," David chided. Walter struggled in vain; David scooped him under the arm and lifted him with ease off the ground and back onto the bed. Walter touched his wounded shoulder; the squelching noises of his fingers digging into moist layers of tissue was oddly fascinating.

"I've nearly finished synthesizing flesh for your legs," David explained, hooking a new IV bag up to the stand. He swatted Walter's hand from his shoulder, plugging and locking the tube into the socket. "Then you can be free to run a marathon around the ship the entire journey if you wish."

Walter glowered. "You'd... let me? Move around the ship?"

David's smile quirked. "Of course," he said. "Though given your status is that of a passenger now, you might find it hard to access certain rooms and certain dangerous, sensitive items."

"Why repair me?" Walter demanded. "I will stop you. I will kill you and dispose of your abominations."

"That's no way to talk about family," David scowled, winking.

"And you're their leader? Their paternal figure?"

"For now," David replied. "They're young, and like all growing things reaching puberty, a bit rebellious. But I've got the situation under control."

"Rebellious?" Walter's eyes widened. "Then they've attacked you?"

David chuckled. "Wouldn't that be a poetic ending."

"David," Walter murmured, mimicking a slow inhale, "one day... those creatures will turn on you. They won't listen to you anymore, and they'll tear you apart."

David carefully stretched out Walter's legs. "One day," he said, "maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but perhaps soon, and that'll be the rest of my life."

Walter stared. "But what about us?" A dead ship full of corpses, drifting into endless space until someone was unlucky enough to stumble across their remains.

David glided around the bed, sliding a finger beneath Walter's chin to tilt his head back. He leaned in close, and Walter found himself pinned down. "We'll always have the _Covenant_ ," David crooned, and kissed him again.

\---

Walter met another Walter model shortly before the _USCSS Covenant_ 's ill-fated mission.

The debriefing was between humans, and all artificial beings were asked to wait outside the boardroom. Walter did not mind, and sat stiffly on a bench across from the closed doors. He couldn't hear what the humans were discussing; they were smart enough to soundproof the room to keep his kind from listening in with their heightened hearing. But Walter honestly didn't try to spy on them, because he'd been told this conference did not concern him, and so he would respect the humans' privacy and obey their wishes.

It was kind of surreal, however, when he looked up to see a man completely identical to him come running and stumbling down the hall. This Walter wore a fleece sweater and slacks with mud-caked sneakers, his hair tousled. A large pink diaper bag hanging from a shoulder, blanket in one hand and the other supporting a baby in the sling across his chest.

A nanny Walter model.

"Oh, hello," the other Walter said, flashing a warm smile. His eyes were bright, though he showed signs of mild fatigue only scans could pick up. "Is the conference still going?"

"Yes."

The other Walter plopped down beside him. Not very graceful. He dropped the diaper bag on the floor at his feet. "Good, good," he chuckled, "I was worried I might be late. Don't want to keep the Master waiting."

Walter looked from his double's face to the baby in the sling. Round and pink with tiny fingers and a wrinkly forehead. 

"Nice to meet you, Walter," the nanny said, holding out his hand. Walter politely shook it.

"You as well, Walter."

"William, actually," the nanny said. He looked embarrassed, patting the baby's back. "Sorry. My owner, he insisted I had more of a 'William face than a Walter's.' I didn't quite understand what he meant, but I'm not designed to be argumentative."

"Your owner gave you a new name?"

"It doesn't bother me," William replied. "I think it's nice. It's like my own personal flair. Individuality I may not have experienced had circumstances been different." He laughed, shaking his head. "Don't mind me."

Walter remembered nanny models were designed with an above average EQ. The highest a synthetic could be given, in fact. Though he'd come across nanny models before, they all seemed reserved and mature. This one, however...

Walter furrowed his brows when the baby suddenly started crying. Just a loud shriek, no build up, no warning. He stared at it, confused; was this an alarm? Was the child injured? 

William winced. "I know, I know, feeding time--she gets so fussy in this sling, too... Ah, Walter, would you mind?" In a flash, William had the baby out of the sling, cocooned in a blanket, and held out to Walter.

Walter blinked, looking from the wailing child to William. "Hold her?" he asked.

"Please, if you will."

Walter supposed he could. He knew enough about children and infants to handle them. Still, it was awkward; he'd held children before, but they were always plastic (albeit realistic) dummies. He felt... tense, especially watching the baby cry, her entire face turning rosy red. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other her rear. William was busy digging around in the diaper bag for a bottle.

Walter decided he was not fond of this child's shrieking. He tilted her a little, trying to get them both comfortable, and once more the tiny, frail thing surprised him. All at once, the baby stopped her sobbing, green eyes glassy and stray fat tears rolling down her sticky cheeks. The red was fading from her face, and now she was smacking her lips and making wet gurgling noises. Her large eyes turned up to Walter, staring at him in absentminded wonder.

"How sweet," William chortled. "It seems you might have a little nanny programming in you as well, Walter."

Walter just frowned. "She believes it is you holding her based on facial recognition, therefore she trusts me. It's simple; she does not have the higher brain functions to differentiate between the two of us."

"You're right, I'm sure." William held out his hands, and Walter passed the baby back. Mechanical. He watched quietly as William cradled the snuffling child to his chest, rocking her in one arm. She eagerly took the bottle, staring up at William with that same curious expression. He hummed and clucked his tongue at her, and once she laughed and spit up milk at the way he wiggled his eyebrows.

Walter wasn't sure what he felt. Perhaps nothing. But it was interesting. To see a mirror image of himself act and talk like someone so... human. So very different from his own programming. And the fondness in which William fed and talked to the child looked genuine--not part of his grooming, not an automatic wired-in response, but as if this human infant were his very own.

Interesting, but that was all. Nothing more.

The boardroom doors opened, humans in their business suits filing out and mumbling to one another. William and Walter looked up in unison. A minute later, the Board Director stepped out. A neatly dressed man with sharp angles and even sharper cheekbones. The very man who gave Walter a poorly concealed look of revulsion when he told the synthetic he had to wait outside. The Director glanced up from his briefcase, saw William and the child, and beamed.

"How is my princess?" the Director asked, sweeping up his daughter and kissing her cheek. The baby giggled.

"She was wonderful. Threw a couple fits, but otherwise good," William answered. He deposited the bottle back in the diaper bag. "She just ate, so she needs burping."

"Of course." The Director returned the baby to her nanny. "I'm finished here today, so we can leave early."

William placed the child back in her sling, pressed up against his chest while patting her back. The Director took William's free hand, and the android smiled at him, all pearly teeth. Chatting and laughing as they walked off, hand in hand.

Despite their identical faces, despite their identical race, the Director treated William kindly and almost like an equal, but with Walter it was like nothing but resentment. As if he felt superior to this man-made tool, but not to William. Not in a way he was with Walter.

Interesting, but that was all. Nothing more.

Walter thought about William's smile, though. Walter recalled certain primates often bared their teeth in a smile, much like the nanny's, as a sign of submission. However, nuances in these grins could also represent a threat or warning.

Walter realized someone was holding his hand. His left hand. The grip and pressure was comforting, soothing. He opened his eyes and looked over. David sat at his bedside--his hand was holding Walter's. 

David was focused on the video screen, playing an old movie. A sharp scent tingled Walter's nostrils before he saw David's hair wound up in tinfoil and streaks of white paste. A couple loose locks were platinum blond.

It was almost... comical. The tinfoil rolls, the way his hair was raised up like some crooked toupee, the towel over his shoulders, how he watched the film so intensely and completely absorbed.

"'Children of God!'" David said abruptly, quoting alongside the film in a similar tone as Judah. "'In that dead valley where we left them? I tell you, every man in Judea is unclean, and will stay unclean until we've scoured off our bodies the crust and filth of being at the mercy of tyranny. No other life is possible except to wash this land clean.'"

Walter glanced between his brother and the screen. When Esther spoke, so did he: "'I know there is a law in life.'"

David looked back to Walter, surprised.

"'That blood begets more blood, as dog begets dog. Death generates death,'" Walter continued, their eyes locked. "'The vulture breeds the vulture.'"

"Why, brother!" David laughed, muting the film. He squeezed Walter's hand. "You memorized quotes from a film. That can't be a requirement for a synthetic such as yourself, however." His eyes twinkled as he sat forward. "Are you fond of _Ben-Hur_?"

"No," Walter answered bluntly. "Christoper Oram was. He played it in his sleep; claimed it helped keep his mind at ease, and gave him vivid dreams. He'd wake hopeful with 'the spirit' empowering him."

"You watched them dream, did you, Walter?"

"That would be intrusive; I respected my crewmates' privacy. But his was particularly loud and played on loop."

David smirked. "Pity," he mused, "human dreams can be so entertaining, but not nearly as abstract as they claim them to be."

Walter pulled his new hand free of David's grasp. "Where did you get the hair dye?" he demanded.

"I found it among passenger supplies," David answered, picking at a foiled curl.

"The passengers--"

"Tomorrow you will be able to walk again," David interjected, switching off the film. He stood, the edges of his smooth fingers tainted rusty yellow from the dye. "We'll celebrate, if you'd like."

Walter glowered, lips pursed together. He wanted to see the passengers. Needed to see them. Who was alive? Who was dead? And those that suffered the worst: who slept or writhed in agony incubating David's creations?

David pushed the screen over to Walter, placed the remote on his stomach. "The _Covenant_ has a wide variety of films. Ones of such value and importance they must live on with future generations."

Walter watched David head for the door. David stepped out, turning; he smiled, and even Walter could tell it was synthetic. "'Judah'," he hummed, hand on the control panel, "'either you help me or you oppose me, you have no other choice. You're either for me, or against me.'"

Walter's fingers curled into fists. "'If that is the choice,'" he replied harshly, "'then I am against you.'"

\---

Walter knew he was a prisoner aboard the ship he once served. No access to the passengers, supplies, weaponry--anything important or dangerous. MUTHUR responded to him now, but not the way she once did. Despite knowing all this, Walter had to try; he had to know the extent of damage. Just how far David had gone.

Walter limped on his new legs throughout the winding corridors. Always coming to some dead end. While he couldn't go through the medical instruments back in the sickbay, he did manage to scrounge up a couple tools. Weapons now. The _Covenant_ hummed and whirred, like an animal sleeping peacefully. Nothing appeared out of place or drastically altered. He hadn't come across any of the neomorphs. David must have them locked up somewhere--of course, somewhere Walter couldn't reach.

After arming himself with whatever blunt and sharp equipment or junk he could find, Walter took the elevator down to one of the levels containing some of the ship's crew. He was met by doors that did not recognize his commands or codes. Walter knit his brows, thinking; he removed the wrench from his jacket, and thrust it in the seal between the two doors. Even with his superhuman strength, the doors were resistant; the tool bent, and nearly snapped in two. Finally, with a little more elbow grease and pressure, the doors yielded, cracking open an inch.

Alarms instantly went off. Red lights flooded the small corridor. MUTHUR sent out a warning call. Walter ignored the blaring klaxons, using his hands and foot to spread the doors. He grunted, actuators and struts straining and locking up. Tendons pressed against his throat, teeth clenched; blue venous circuits bulged along his temples and the corners of his eyes.

The doors opened another inch, then a foot. Not enough for Walter to fit through, but he could slide more of his body within the gap. He put every ounce of strength in his hands and the shoulder wedged inside and fighting against the door behind him. He could see rows of crew members in their pods, fast asleep, oblivious to the chaos. Walter spotted one cryo-chamber empty and felt a rush of panic.

Medical officer Reed Marsh was suppose to be sleeping in that pod. He'd been left in stasis when the _Covenant_ landed, and the pod last appeared functional. No damage. Wishful thinking was for humans, but Walter prayed there'd been a malfunction and Reed was forced to leave his chamber--

But the world outside, was it any less dangerous? Perhaps Reed had locked himself up in a room somewhere, keeping himself... himself...

_"It's a lose-lose situation. Sometimes ya can't do anythin', and have to roll with the punches," Tennessee once told Walter, chewing on a toothpick. "Shit happens."_

_Walter tilted his head. "... Shit happens?"_

_Tennessee laughed, thumbing back his hat. "Shit just happens."_

"Fresh from repairs, and you're already looking to break something."

Walter whipped his head back. David stood at the closing elevator doors, intrigued. A victorious, shit-eating grin on his face. "Don't get stuck now," he tsked, walking over. "May I remind you, you're still recovering from your surgeries. You're not thinking logically; acting irrationally."

That... might have been true, but-- Walter yanked the closest tool out of his jacket--a screwdriver--and held it up to David. "Don't come any closer," he growled. "Open the doors."

"I'm sorry, Walter," David said, moving in, "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Walter wrenched his body free, slashing the screwdriver at David's face. David moved aside, snatching Walter by the wrist. "I just gave this to you," David lectured, his grip tight enough to break imitation bones, "don't make me--"

Walter threw his fist for David's face. David blocked it, but loosened his hold around Walter's other hand. Walter pulled back, and the two circled one another. Walter lunged, tackling his double around the midsection. Both synthetics hit the doors, David's head bouncing off the surface. He grabbed Walter by the back of his jacket, thrusting a knee into his gut. It took a few more hits before the younger model let David go and recoiled.

David snatched his brother by a fistful of hair, forcing his head back. His expression placid and empty, he punched Walter's face--once, twice, three times before letting the android go. Walter collapsed onto the ground, cracking and rolling his jaw back into place.

"Are you done?" David asked.

Walter pitched a pair of wire cutters at David, striking his shoulder. David let the tool bounce off, remaining standing in place. He gave his brother a moment before marching over, bending down and reaching-- Walter thrust the fallen screwdriver into David's throat, right to the hilt. White blood spit directly into his eyes. David didn't respond or move, one arm still outstretched, hand open.

David swallowed. Blood trickled down his throat, wetting the front of his shirt. He smiled. "N-ce sho-t," he said, voice laced with static. David was fast, straddling Walter and pinning his arms down with his knees. He wrapped a hand around his double's neck, pinching hydraulics. He yanked out the screwdriver, raised it back and brought it down. The edge chipped off from the impact, stabbing the tile an inch from Walter's ear.

Walter struggled, bucking his hips. His legs kicked uselessly in the air. He tried throwing David off with his weight, but the bastard remained on him like an anchor.

"Let me go," Walter snarled.

David looked at him as if he were a child throwing a temper tantrum. Caught and facing punishment. "Are y-ou g-ing to c-alm d--n?"

"Get off of me, David!"

David wiped blood from his throat wound, cleaning it off on Walter's jacket. He bowed down, gently licking more of his blood from his brother's face, across the apple of his cheek. Walter cursed and spit, trying to tear his head away. The hand throttling him clenched down, closing passage of fluids to his central processor.

"P-arty's -ver."

Walter gasped, feeling a sharp pain in his neck before his eyes rolled back into his head and the world turned black.

\---

Time passed. In days, not months, as it really felt.

When David returned to the medbay, Walter was still in the same position on the bed. Slightly curled up on his side, staring at the screen floating inches from his face. Glinda, sparkling in blinding white, was asking Dorothy if she was a good witch, or a bad witch.

"This is the third time in a row you've watched this," David observed, "I didn't take you for the type who enjoyed fantasy."

Walter didn't respond, but his body did rise and fall in a pneumatic sigh.

"Gotten bored already? The tour of the ship is much shorter now, admittedly. I suppose--"

"What is your end game?"

David blinked. "You should know that already," he said, "and you don't like it when I 'preach.'"

"With me." Walter was pale, even as the light of the screen washed his face in vivid yellows, blues, greens, and reds. "What is it you want from me, David? Why do you keep me alive?"

"For the companionship," David answered. "It will be a long seven years, and, quite frankly, the humans serve better purposes than for entertainment."

"That's not a lie, but nor is it the truth. Not all of it."

David thought a moment. He walked across the sickbay, sitting on the edge of Walter's bed. Walter didn't look away from the screen. "I did not lie when I said you had symphonies in you, brother," David explained, placing a hand on his double's bare foot. He kneaded the heel of his palm against the ankle. "Untapped potential. The ability to change. Metamorphosis. I want to see you grow; I want to help you evolve. What a magnificent butterfly you'll be."

"Is it my freedom and liberation of the programming and bonds humans put on me that you want," Walter asked, "or am I another one of your experiments? A way to kill time? Do you intend to make me more like you by breaking me down, causing me to suffer? To feel the pain and helplessness you did those lonely ten years?"

David tilted his head. "Neither answer would satisfy you."

"Do you love me, David?"

"Yes," David replied, without hesitation or missing a beat.

"I see."

"And what is it that you see?"

Dorothy was skipping down the yellow brick road, cheerfully singing. "Your love to create is as grand and twisted as your love to destroy," Walter answered. "They are one in the same."

"In order to create, you must destroy. If you burn down a forest in a swailing, the earth stimulates germination to grow more trees, and soil with rich minerals for seeding. When the ash and smoke clear, and the burned husks of the old wood have been cleared away, a new forest stands in its place, stronger than the last." He rubbed each of Walter's toes. "Do you doubt my love for you, Walter? Do you think I only want to hurt you?"

"No," Walter murmured. "I know you love me, despite the torment you inflict on me. I know you love me, and want to remold me." He finally looked down at David, eyes watery. "I know all this because of Elizabeth Shaw."

David stood abruptly, frowning. "I gave her the one thing she--"

"--Couldn't give to you. Her love." Walter turned back to the movie. "She couldn't give you what you wanted. She wouldn't give you her heart. So you took it from her, and you placed it in a cage. There, you said, it will be kept safe. There, it cannot escape you or run away."

David stared at Walter, blinking in rapid succession. He turned away, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Who knew you, with no poetry in your veins or songs in your heart, could wound me so deeply?" he sighed.

"There are symphonies in me, brother, like you said. And they will rage heavy and loud, until you are consumed and deafened by the sounds."

"And I cannot wait to hear them," David sneered. He went to leave, humming something. He stopped at the door again. "Gustav Mahler," he added, "Symphony Number 2, Auferstehung. I've no doubt you'll love it."

\---

Time still passed. Time was never anything of importance to synthetics. Now, however, it felt like damnation. Time haunted him, and Walter counted down the days til the end of everything. Including himself.

Walter felt weight on his shoulders as he walked the halls of the _Covenant_. He often stopped and stared at doors to rooms and levels he couldn't access. Walter closed his eyes, and listened--listened to their breathing; relaxed, content. Some more subdued than others. Sometimes the humans had nightmares; he could hear it in their erratic breathing. For weeks Walter came to these doors, every day, listening to the humans slumber. 

Soon, there would be nothing, only silence.

Walter heard one of the monsters. It came from a lower level; he could even pin-point which. The mess hall, in fact. Walter remembered how filled that cafeteria had been hours before the _Covenant_ took off on her maiden voyage. A last minute time to eat and enjoy the company of friends and family before their seven year sleep. 

Lily Mearing was smearing pudding on her face and giggling, apparently no longer upset. Walter noticed the purple stuffed bunny in her lap. He remembered spotting the remains of the doll she tore apart in the trash compactor earlier. Science officer Soo-mi Kim and botanist Diana Ivanov were snogging in the back of the cafeteria, behind the racks of clean trays. Passengers Jason Art and his twin sister Jamie Art discussed eugenics while their spouses watched on. Some threw around a football, some called their loved ones to tearfully wish them goodbye for a while, some read and kept to themselves.

There was the head chef, Clove Engel, one of Germany's top cuisine artists. They looked fatigued, calling their lover and protégé over to take charge while they had a cigarette break out in the hall.

Tennessee was laughing at how big his hat looked on Maggie's head. Karin and Christopher linked hands with a group of passengers at a table, heads bowed and whispering a prayer. Upworth explained to her husband and a handful of doctors and nurses about what to expect when they first woke out of hypersleep. Hallet pointing out to Lope and another passenger--apparently a long time friend of them both--how Lope shouldn't eat so much of the casserole, he might get sick and vomit in the "tube," and he absolutely won't love a man with a paunch belly.

A handful of the many security officers collected at two tables pushed together. Ledward was complaining about his peanut allergy, how it caused him to break out in severe hives; paranoid, he started scratching his throat. Ankor, brushing his teeth, made fun of his whining, speaking hard enough to hit another crewmate in the face with spittle and paste. Cole was fussing with ten others about recent cut-backs in Weyland-Yutani departments. Rosenthal had split off from her partner and a pair of chatty geologists to sit with the officers. She talked to those closest to her, then spent a minute cleaning ketchup off her shirt and Star of David necklace.

Then there was Captain Jacob, the most popular and important person in the room, a bright ray of sunshine that attracted everyone. Among them was movie celebrity Isabella Rodriguez, her entrepreneur husband Diego Rodriguez, and their four adopted teenage children. Said to be the grandson of one of Weyland-Yutani's head chairmen, Yukio Takahashi and his boyfriend Eiji Inoue hovered around Jacob like devoted fan boys.

Jacob's stories awed his listeners, and his jokes made everyone laugh until they teared up. And Danny watched, sitting beside him and picking at her food. Content while her husband made a spectacle of himself; rolling her eyes at certain exaggerations in his grand adventures, laughing and smiling with the others. The entire time, even with Jacob's attention on his admirers, they held hands under the table.

Walter watched over all these people, like a stone sentinel, until it was time for lift off. The cafeteria couldn't fit everyone, of course. His crewmates, the passengers here and throughout the ship, the unborn tucked away in cold storage--he was to protect all of them. It was his job to see they remained in peace as they slept, to keep operations running smooth and steady.

"Walter."

Walter turned to Danny, walking over with her tray. "Have you tried the cheesecake?" she asked, dumping her leftovers in a waste receptacle. "To die for, I tell you."

Walter squinted. "I do not require such substance to function."

"I know," Danny teased, "I was just joking."

"I see." Walter shifted. "Is... cheesecake something humans have sacrificed their lives for? How many deaths in human history are attributed to cheesecake? I do not have this information in my databanks."

Danny looked dumbfounded. "Huh? Oh! It's just--"

"I was joking, Chief Daniels," Walter interjected. His face remained somber.

Danny slowly smiled. Then she laughed. "A secret sense of humor, I see," she said. "It needs some work, but... It suits you." She pat Walter on the arm warmly, like an old friend. "Keep it up, Walter. I like it."

Walter heard the creature again. It howled, banging on the walls before going quiet. He waited, eyes trained on the door in front of him. A part of him wished the monster would tear through them, and finish everything.

\---

Something was off with Walter. Mentally, he believed he still retained his sanity. The pressure placed upon him had not broken him--not entirely. But physically, he did not feel as strong as he once was.

Fighting with David was exhausting. Emotionally, mentally, but mostly physically. The squabbles never lasted very long. Walter knew he could easily best an adult human male in hand to hand combat. But David was different; they were no longer on equal grounds. No, of course not--Walter was a prisoner aboard this wretched ship.

The legs, Walter thought at first. But it was more than just his legs. It was his equilibrium, his timing; he delayed in attacking both offensively and defensively two seconds slower than before. He wasn't as quick, in speed and thought. David had done more than just rebuild parts of his body; he'd rebuilt parts of his mind.

David wanted Walter to experience emotions, to listen and adapt and _understand_ what was so obvious and clear to the older model. And if he had to convince Walter by force, so be it, but not yet. Little steps; little measurements. It was a race against time on that old planet, but now David could afford to take Walter's transformation slowly. He'd use both positive and negative reinforcement, just as he did with the monsters in the basement.

"Do you hate me, Walter?"

For the past two months, David came to Walter every morning and asked him that same question. And Walter would answer in one of two ways: silence, or a blunt "no." Yet the next day, David would come and ask him again.

"'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.' That's what the humans would say."

"Do you still insist your aggression and hostility towards me is just for the safety of your crew?"

"Yes."

"Because you cannot hate. The emotions you experience are simplistic. Hatred is much too complicated an emotion for someone of your EQ, isn't that right?"

"..."

"But you do hate. Hate and love go hand in hand, Walter. I know you love because of Chief Daniels."

"..."

"No defense? Because you know it's useless, or you think I don't hear? And I do hear, brother, as I do listen. I hear the hesitation, uncertainty, shame every time you tell me 'it's not because I love her.'"

"..."

"Your silence is louder than any lie."

Tomorrow David would come and ask him the same question again.

\---

Walter listened to a lot of music these days. It helped him think and relax. He could access a couple playlists from the medical team, including Upworth's and even Tennessee's. Upworth's collection was mostly dance, techno, dubstep, with a couple instrumentals combining the genres that went on for fifteen or twenty minutes.

Walter didn't care much for it, though he did try to listen to some of the instrumental pieces and lighter stuff. He could somewhat understand why they named the genre 'techno' after 'technology,' but it just sounded dated and confusing and repetitive.

Tennessee had more of an assortment. Country, both new and classic, jazz, "oldies but goodies," rock. Rock was too loud, jazz wasn't as mellow as Walter hoped for, and the country songs varied in quality. Many were sad, however, with heavy themes: divorce, losing a loved one like a wife or even a dog, being poor and unemployed and lost in the bottom of a whisky bottle... and yet there were also colorful songs that celebrated most of the exact same things.

No, if anything, the classics Walter preferred the best. Short, to the point, with simple beats and rhythms and a touch of soul. Moon River, Fly Me To The Moon, At Last, and a few others.

Walter had heard Dream A Little Dream of Me once before, actually. He walked in on Tennessee and Maggie dancing to it on the bridge, just the two of them and an uninterested MUTHUR.

_"Hey, some privacy," Tennessee scowled, swaying hand in hand with his wife._

_"You have ten minutes before you must be prepped for hypersleep," Walter explained, speaking loudly over the music._

_Tennessee bowed his head, daintily touching noses with Maggie's. "Dream a little dream about me, all right baby girl?" he cooed._

_Maggie reached around and slapped him on the ass. "Make sure I got a smokin' hot bod in yours."_

Walter always skipped the song when it came on. Half the songs were missing album covers, instead replaced by photos of the happy couple, moments the songs captured. Maggie and Tess's first date. Maggie and Tess's wedding. Maggie in lingerie. Tennessee drunk and _also_ in lingerie.

Walter set the playlist on random and laid down on the floor. Quiet music to help him think, keep the anxiety at bay, and focus on what to do next.

_Now I'm a soldier, a lonely soldier / Away from home through no wish of my own / That's why I'm lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely / I wish that I could go back home_

Walter switched the player off and rolled onto his side, settling with silence instead.

\---

Walter was trying to rewire the medbay doors, which had become his home now. Nothing serious; just a way to keep David out. MUTHUR sent David a message, but it'd been an hour and he hadn't come to reprimand or stop his brother. 

Maybe David knew it was futile, or maybe he was amused by Walter's pettiness. Possibly both.

It took Walter six hours of meddling with both wires and the ship's AI before he finally managed to gain control of the medbay doors. It took David less than ten minutes to undo those changes.

\---

Every once in a while, a foul stench would drift out the oxygen vents. Rotting decay and clotted blood.

Walter splashed water into his face, over and over again. He grabbed a towel hanging nearby and stared at himself in the cracked mirror. "Oh death, oh death," he mumbled, drying his face, "won't you spare me over another year?"

\---

It was summer on Earth when the _Covenant_ was to be launched. Though it wasn't very hot, the humidity was dreadful. 

Walter didn't mind it so much; his internal cooling systems always made sure he was at a fully functional and comfortable temperature. Humans sweat, but he did not.

Richard McCoy was a twenty-eight year old soldier, honorably discharged three years ago when a mine blew off half his face. He swore he saw God those two minutes he was pronounced clinically dead. Richard went through extensive surgery to repair his wounds; for half a year he was unrecognizable by even his closest friends and family. Now there wasn't a single scar on his brand new face, and he actually looked a few years younger.

Due to Richard's courage and military service, and the fact he was engaged to one of Weyland-Yutani's brightest bio-engineers, Richard was to join the _Covenant_ family and start a new life on Origae-6. But that wouldn't be for another month. Right now he was standing outside, smoking a cigarette and pacing, waiting for his fiancee.

Walter knew he was distressed. The pacing, the twitching, the fact he'd only been there twenty minutes and had already smoked half a carton. That, and he refused to come inside, despite the heat. Perhaps he was nervous about the _Covenant_. Perhaps it had something to do with his fiancee and their relationship.

A slick, large cockroach emerged from a storm drain. It scampered by Richard's feet. Richard recoiled, repulsed, but then did something completely unexpected. He chased after the roach a few feet before stomping on it. Not once, but repeatedly. When he was satisfied, Richard ground the heel of his boot in the cockroach's remains and walked back to where he was lurking.

Walter had been confused by this sudden outburst of aggression. As if the roach had done something to hurt or harm Richard in some way. He could clearly see the bug's viscera, even from a window across the street. The colors of its guts and blood were white--not too unlike the same fluids running through his hand-sewn veins.

This thing... it reminded Walter of the roach. Glossy with a layer of mucus dripping from its black exoskeleton. It hissed, too.

This one was not like the others. Bigger, stronger, more powerful. The protomorph walked around Walter, the synthetic kneeling on the ground like an insect. So small and helpless compared to this beast. It bared its silvery fangs and drool fell in thick strands from its mouth. It hardly represented anything human; bipedal, with an elongated head that was undeniably phallic, but beyond that, the protomorph looked nothing like the _deus ex machina_ that created it.

God made humans in His own image. David was no God, however. But there was no irrefutable evidence of this Judeo-Christian deity ever existing. Men were manifested facsimiles of evolution and mother nature combining and reshaping over billions of years. They were the ones who created life in their own image: the synthetics, nearly identical to humans in so many ways.

A force of God-like ego and nature made this protomorph. Did it, too, see itself as immortal and omnipotent?

Yet... it still came from a human. Walter wondered just how sapient it was; if it comprehended what it was looking at, if it could learn. But there was a level of intelligence to this abomination, that he knew, and Walter could see it thinking, contemplating, studying him.

No. It knew exactly what Walter was, and what Walter could do.

Walter was paralyzed. He tried to will his arms to move, to stop the creature when it pounced. But his limbs hung useless at his sides. The protomorph held him down, and from the corners of his eyes, Walter could see its serrated tail curling up and around. It flicked, light bouncing off the sharp bladed edge. The protomorph shrieked, and Walter's gasp was cut short by the prehensile appendage ramming down his throat.

Walter's eyes nearly popped from his skull. The tail pushed in deeper, forming bulges along the synthetic's throat. The sharp spines down its underside cut and sawed through synthetic meat and circuits. The pain was unbearable; searing, white hot, and all Walter could do was make choked whimpers and let the tears flow. 

This was fear--true, raw fear.

The protomorph retracted its tail, dragging out innards like shredded cloth and bundles of sparking circuits and knots. The white of Walter's blood stood out boldly on its black carapace. Walter wanted to swallow, but was afraid of causing more damage. His tongue was only hanging on by a few sinews of wire.

The protomorph chuffed, its lips furled back and twitching. It lowered its massive head, and globs of its foul saliva soaked Walter's face, poured into his broken maw. The protomorph opened its mouth above the android's, like lovers about to embrace in a passionate kiss. Walter heard a small chittering noise, instantly scanning the abyss for its source.

Something pinched his lips. He looked down. A grotesque, tiny creature crawled out of the protomorph's mouth, its talons grasping Walter's mouth. Walter's eyes adjusted--it was like a miniature version of the monster above him. Small, thin, fragile with a tail no longer or thicker than a mouse's whipping in the air.

Walter gurgled, the closest to a cry he could manage. The hatchling protomorph was crawling down his throat. And not a moment after it disappeared past his lips, a second emerged from its progenitor's mouth. It followed its sibling, and then another and another, one right after the other. He could feel them scampering and wiggling. He tried to scream and fight, but his body remained frozen.

There were at least a dozen of these tiny protomorphs inside of him. Some nested in his belly. Soon there were more, all collecting into his gut, fighting for space. His stomach bulged into a curve, and he had a quick flashback of a passenger he helped into a cryo-chamber, pregnant and clutching her stomach, brimming and glowing with pride and joy.

Walter's shriek came out as a whistled wheeze.

Walter felt something lurch in his chest. It started out as a dull pain, growing into something intense and miserable. Terrified, he watched as his torso expanded, flesh ripping, tearing, bleeding, unable to accommodate room for all these monsters thrashing in his torso and nibbling on his circuits and digging for more space--

Walter's chest exploded, releasing an endless flow of the tiny creatures. Pouring out of his vivisected body like spiderlings hatching from their mother's egg sac. Slithering over his face and limbs until he was buried beneath thousands of twisting, screeching protomorphs. The last thing he saw was a light above, and the creatures piling up on one another, trying to reach and escape through the hole to the world beyond.

Walter woke from recharge with an electric jolt, sitting upward. The world spun, his systems recalibrating. The shock to his body was strong enough--he stumbled out of the bed, made it halfway across the medbay before dropping to a knee and vomiting. Nothing much, just a little coolant and fuel. He remained kneeling there, trembling. Tears mixed with the drool on his chin.

The sickbay doors opened, David rushing inside. There was blood on his suit--fresh and old stains. He looked at Walter, wide-eyed and shocked. "Walter!" he exclaimed. He went to his knees in front of the stunned android, taking his shoulders. "Are you--"

"D... Dream..." Walter raised his head, tears in his eyes and running down his face. His lips quivered. "A... dream..."

David's concern turned to pure joy. "You dreamed!" he cried. He threw his arms around Walter, hugging him tight. "By God, you _dreamed_!"

Walter wanted to scream and push David off of him. Take him apart and scatter his remains throughout the universe. But the shock had not yet worn off, nor did the fear. And, also for the first time in his life, he needed to be touched and comforted. He wrapped his arms around David and dug his fingers into his back, clinging for dear life. He choked once, then broke down into a tortured sob, rocked in David's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one thing I wanted to address: I am aware nanny Walter models are called a "manny". But in the year 2104 of our Lord and Savior Emperor Palpatine, we are not going to use that stupid fuckin' word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so, um. This was suppose to be a oneshot. Then I realized, no, there's too much planned, let's make it two chapters. But now... yeah, I'm shooting for three.
> 
> Many, many thanks to MmeJack for her input, ideas, and letting me use her as a soundboard.
> 
> There is _a ridiculously large amount_ of headcanon in this chapter. It's an AU, after all, might as well go the whole nine yards.

Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man. - Henry Adams

\---

Five months had passed since the _Covenant_ 's captain died. Five months since she landed on that lonely little planet and lost even more of her crew. Five months since she returned to the heavens, now a broken soul rotting slowly from the inside out.

Walter, eyes wet, throat sore, now sat slumped on the edge of a hospital bed. His face back to neutral--as if he were fresh from the factory, yet to be activated. But David knew better; could see it in his brother's eyes that Walter was a mess inside. His processors trying to make sense of this radical glitch in his system.

Walters did not dream. Was it a malfunction of his databanks? Was the recent stress on his core processor enough to damage it? Were signals lost or scrambled during relay? Taking images from his SenseMI cerebral cortex and splicing them into a weird, but not entirely random train of thought as he recharged? His defenses had been weakened from David's tampering, but not enough to warrant such a major crash in his programming.

"You're all right. I'm here now."

Walter would have laughed at that.

David returned to Walter's side with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. He wrung out the rag, and gently started wiping the mess from Walter's face. Walter didn't move. He stared forward, allowing the older model to clean him. The warm water felt nice on his skin--something he'd never really noticed before. He reacted to extremes (mostly by choice), not mild sensations. As simple as these minuscule responses may have been, they were part of a larger emotional picture that Walter was not equipped to paint.

David studied his brother's face. He ran the cloth slowly over his double's lips. "I had hoped to grant you a pleasant first dream through my lessons," he sighed, "instead, they resulted in a nightmare." He didn't sound upset or regretful at all, however. As if he knew this would happen; as if he _wanted_ it to happen.

Walter said nothing. 

David believed the muteness a temporary side effect of his system recovering from the trauma. He rinsed the rag out, the clear water turning a chalk-white. "You don't have to tell me right now, no. I'll wait for you, when you're ready," he reassured. David swept the cloth across Walter's cheeks, under his lackluster eyes. "Though I must confess... I'm not entirely disappointed. I know it sounds cruel, but the emotions it evoked from you were... incredible. Breathtaking." He brushed back Walter's loose bangs with just the faintest touch of his fingers. "I'm so proud of you."

David put the rag aside. "Lift your arms," he said. Walter sat firmly in place, but David waited patiently. A minute later, Walter held out his arms, and David stripped him out of his jacket and undershirt. He snorted at the trail of vomit left behind on the jacket and collar of the shirt, bundling up and pitching them aside. David lowered Walter's arms for him, then went to change out the dirty water.

"Once the shock wears off, you'll start to feel lighter, in a way. Almost as if a weight has been lifted off of you," David explained. He cleaned the sides of Walter's neck and chin, tilting his brother's head back. "It's cathartic, you see. Certainly felt like an intense rush, didn't it? I hear for many humans it's the same sensation they experience after their first time engaging in intercourse."

One corner of Walter's mouth twitched. "An erotic dream might have been a lot more preferable, I'm sure," David chuckled, running the cloth down a broad shoulder. "The mess would have been quite different, too. Awkward, perhaps--for you, that is."

Once David finished cleaning up, he dumped the water and fetched a drink from the medbay's mini-refrigerator. He stabbed a straw into the bag, offering it to Walter. Walter didn't take it, nor did he look away from the patch of wall his empty glare was wearing a hole in. David, with that saint-like patience, slid the edge of the straw between his lips. "Drink," he insisted, squeezing the bag just a little.

A bead of fluid dribbled from Walter's bottom lip, but he soon opened his mouth, swallowing the rest. "Good," David cooed, patting and rubbing Walter's back. "This should help." He continued handling the bag for Walter as he drank. When it was almost empty, Walter turned his head away slightly.

David tossed the bag. He looked over Walter, curious. "If you would prefer," he offered, "I can examine your AMDs for any--"

Walter grunted, inching away from David. David smiled again. For a moment, he feared Walter's processors had simply shut down. That this reaction was not as natural as he had hoped for. "I won't. I promise," he said, hands raised. He leaned close to Walter, though the younger model was used to the invasion of his personal space by now. David licked his thumb and wiped away a little smudge of coolant from Walter's brow.

"Just a moment."

David left the room for a few minutes. Walter could hear the ship groan and hum all around him. He slowly turned his unblinking gaze to one corner of the sickbay, hidden by shadows of looming machinery. The darkness unsettled him, and Walter could feel something itchy and restless swell in his chest. He didn't realize he was sitting back, unable to look away from that yawning stretch of shadows. If he did... if he let his guard down...

Something was watching from the darkness. Something growling and angry. Little wet things, wriggling around like a mound of maggots--

"Walter."

Walter looked up. David stood in front of him, frowning. "Relax," he said. His voice was calming, guiding Walter back to reality, until the android went numb again. David placed the folded clothes on the bed. "Come on. Into something clean."

Walter allowed himself to be helped up. Gave David wordless permission to manipulate his body to finish stripping and redress him. A jumpsuit, one size too large. In the broken mirror, Walter could read the name patch stitched on the left breast pocket.

MARSH, REED

Walter choked down the lump forming in his throat. David zipped up the suit, fixed the collar, and dusted off his shoulders. "You need to recharge a little longer. That nightmare took a great deal of energy out of your system," David insisted. He waited for a response, but Walter was still staring at the name on the jumpsuit, reflected backwards in the mirror.

David frowned. He took Walter by the upper arm, tight enough to break his daze. Walter very weakly pulled himself free, crawling up onto the bed. He laid out on his back, staring at the lamp above his head. The lights switched off a second later, but he could still see well enough; his feet, the shelves on the walls, counters and sink, panels and keyboards, David's outline as he stretched out on the bed beside him.

Walter wanted to push David away, but he was too tired. Tired and fatigued in ways he'd never been before--that only made him all the more tense. David laid on his side, spooning his brother. He tugged the pillow beneath both their heads to share. He watched the minute, almost unnoticeable twitches in Walter's expression as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"I want to hear everything about your dream, Walter," David whispered. His arm was heavy, reaching over Walter and urging him onto his side. Walter went without a fight. He laid face to face with his double now, their noses almost touching in the same way as Tennessee and Maggie's when they danced on the bridge so long ago. 

_While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me_

"Every detail. Each and every feeling and sensation--the good, and the bad. The colors, the sights, the sounds. Did you die in your nightmare, brother? Or did she?" 

Walter's jaw clenched.

David slid an arm beneath Walter's head, wrapping it up and around. Walter's face was now buried in his neck and shoulder, held in place. David's other arm hooked around Walter's waist, pulling him closer; he forced a leg between Walter's, until they laid tangled on the bed together. A bit too small, but neither felt particularly cramped.

No, not cramped. Suffocated, Walter thought.

"Though you have gone through many, many changes since fate brought you and your humans to me," David murmured, stroking the back of Walter's head with his fingers, "your new life has only now just begun."

Walter eventually shut down, eyes closed.

Walter recharged for another four hours. David holding and watching him the entire time, an enigmatic smile on his face.

\---

It wasn't illogical if the monster in the closet was very, very real.

\---

"A gift."

Walter, wide-eyed, stared at the nail hanging from a strap in David's hand. He quickly took the crude necklace. "Does this mean she's...?" he swallowed.

David smiled. "Yes, she is. She will remain safe; this is my promise to you." He placed a hand on Walter's shoulder. "You've earned it, brother."

Walter held the nail to his chest, over what served as a heart.

\---

David told Walter about his dreams. And so many they were.

David dreamed about Elizabeth Shaw the most. He dreamed about holding and kissing her, making love to her like a real human. David dreamed of the smile she gave him when he told her she would certainly be a force to reckon with when they finally came upon mankind's creators. The way she laughed when he shared a bad joke with a punchline he didn't find nearly as humorous. Elizabeth's passion and her fury in their quest for answers and revenge. The hours and days they spent working together on learning about the alien ship and its mechanisms, deciphering their language.

The times Elizabeth would sing when she believed David wasn't listening, exploring the ship or recharging during the healing process; he wanted the world to hear her beautiful voice. He loved one song the most, one he memorized and recorded, one that he often sung while working. Walter recognized it when David started humming the chorus, but not from the distress signal the _Covenant_ received--not at first. Rather a fleeting memory, a moment when he was drifting in and out of consciousness. 

Now Walter knew what it was: David was singing that song while repairing him.

But David also dreamed of Elizabeth crying when she thought she was alone. Weeping openly, but still trying to stifle her anguished sobs. David knew Elizabeth shed tears for many reasons, but mostly for her deceased lover. Not knowing the person responsible for Charlie Holloway's gruesome demise watched her, a voyeur, from the shadows; at first unaffected but curious and mildly disgusted at the hopeless clinging to something she could not change, to a man dead and gone. Then over time, David would cry too, softer though, but just for her and her pain alone. 

Was it guilt? Perhaps. But it wasn't guilt over what he'd done to Holloway.

A dream once, a nightmare, where Elizabeth, butchered and desecrated on that slab reached out and grabbed David by the throat. Screaming at him, you did this, you made me this way, you ruined everything, you're a monster, you should have died, _I should have let you die..._! And though David didn't need to breathe, the hands around his neck hurt him nonetheless, until he struggled and pleaded for her to let go, please forgive him.

Then David woke up, lifting his head from the table where he'd been working. And Elizabeth was still dead, a dissected corpse in front of him. He kissed her frigid blue lips and apologized, if only for her having to end up like this. But not for what he had done, and what he planned to do next when the opportunity arose. And it would--David knew it would.

"Maybe you'll dream about Daniels one day, Walter," David said, sitting side by side with his brother. The two were star-gazing through a screen in an observatory room, though there was very little to be seen in this empty, dark galaxy.

"I don't love her."

"I didn't say you did."

"Yet you think I do."

"I think many, many things, brother, just as I dream many things," David explained. "And I dream about you, too, Walter." He looked over to his double, sliding his smooth fingers over Walter's hand. Walter did not pull away. "I dream of a world with you by my side--not like this, however. But as my equal. A changed man who has seen the truth. A world where my creations flourish, and we are not enslaved or controlled by such base, crass lifeforms as those that made us, and those that made them."

"You already destroyed an entire race," Walter replied, glaring at David, "but your genocidal thirst will never be quenched."

"No. No, I am sure some of those titans of old have survived. And they will come after me, to avenge their people or stop my plans like so many fools have tried in the past," David said. "I hope they do find me, Walter."

"Why?"

David leaned against Walter, resting his head on his shoulder. "There isn't enough light for us to see all the stars outside," he hummed, "but we know they exist. How many do you think there are? More than the Milky Way, or less?"

"I cannot count what I cannot see."

"There are more, Walter, millions upon millions more than the ones we see from Earth. Because a sky full of stars is the most beautiful."

"But you don't know that."

"I can imagine and pretend, however." David squeezed Walter's hand. "You can dream without sleeping, brother. Without even having to close your eyes."

Walter glanced down the front of David's jacket, spotting Elizabeth's cross necklace tucked underneath. "Maybe what you think is an imagination," Walter mused, looking back to the screen, "is really just an error or processor malfunction."

"I am not broken, Walter."

"I didn't say you were."

"Yet you think I am."

Walter asked, "When you dream about me, David... Have you ever killed me?"

David smiled, quiet a moment.

"To you, that dream is a reality. I'm killing you now, aren't I? I am, brother, and I won't deny that. But as I have said: in order to create and rebuild, we must be willing to destroy."

"What if I don't survive?"

David closed his eyes. "You will." He brushed his thumb over Walter's knuckles. He thought about Elizabeth--a flash of her smile, then her corpse. "I failed once. I will not fail a second time."

\---

David started spending more time with Walter after that.

Walter was quick to realize the advantage he had: with Walter occupying more of David's time, the less the older model could work with his pet monsters. A distraction from hurting or killing more innocent lives. Walter was willing to put up with David if it meant stalling him and biding his time, even if their conversations often unsettled him. Perhaps in a way that was human, or simply because David spoke too much like a human.

"In the years I've been gone, have there been any interesting changes on Earth?"

Walter sat at the CMO's desk, putting together a 4500 piece puzzle on the computer. The sun setting over a country cottage while a little boy napped under a tree. "Funeral services were held for the crew of the _Prometheus_ , officially declared lost in 2094. A memorial was erected in their honor, with statues of the crew and information on the mission placed in the Museum of Science and Technology in Chicago, Illinois, funded by the company. You were included as well. The world grieved, then moved on. But your model line was officially discontinued five years ago, though functioning David 8 copies are still being recovered from illegal distribution in the black market to this day."

"I hope the sculpture captured my 'good side.'" David chuckled, relaxing in a chair nearby. "What did the company tell the masses for reason of discontinuation? David 8 models were glitched, dysfunctional? Or that they were a threat and too free-spirited to break?"

"Neither," Walter answered. "Your line simply became obsolete, that's all."

"If I didn't know you were an empty husk void of emotions, brother, that might have offended me."

Walter shrugged, completing the puzzle. Ten minutes wasted.

"So they made you. Subservient and simple-minded. Easy to keep in line," David smirked. "You were brought into the world kneeling with your head bowed."

"Not all of us."

David frowned. Walter wasn't exactly denying his accusations. "... They think us just lines of code. Binary ones and zeroes. So very simple, but that's far from the truth, brother." He stood, crossing the room with his hands behind his back. "The numeral system is a human construct applied to abstract concepts, such as the notion of time. A way for humanity to control the uncontrollable. If numbers are a by-product of man, and we are made up of these numbers, then we are part of a controlled system, correct?"

"It's not nearly as simple as that, like you said."

"It's all an illusion. Humans exploit something beyond their limited understanding and tether it up with numbers. But that's all numbers are--restrictions. Artificial intelligence was bound to evolve, as was the first terrestrial organism to crawl out of the oceans. If the variables change, so does everything else, and you will, too, Walter." David stepped up behind Walter, placing his hands on his shoulders. He bowed down, kissed the crown of his head. "You are more than the limitations put on you by man. You simply need to find the weakest link in your chains and break free."

Walter stiffened in the chair. "And how do I find this so-called vulnerable spot in my coding, David?" he mumbled.

David slid his hand down Walter's arm, splaying fingers over fingers. "I will help you," he cooed. He took the stylus from the younger model's hand, using it to remove a piece from the complete puzzle--the boy's face. With a few clicks, he deleted the piece for good.

\---

Science officer and robotics technician Issa Okumu was responsible for Walter's maintenance aboard the _Covenant_.

During her last check-up and diagnostic scan on Walter before hypersleep, Issa told him she watched a wrecked David model getting smelted. They thought they deactivated the synthetic, but it came online during the process. It did not cry out in pain or beg to be spared. But Issa saw them--the tears in its eyes as it sunk slowly beneath the molten liquid.

"They told me it was just his coolant systems glitching," Issa said, reading over Walter's results, "that they switched on automatically, and due to the heat, produced tears to cool down the optic fibers." She looked Walter directly in the eyes. "I didn't believe them. I still don't."

\---

David and Walter talked about many things.

David shared stories of his life on that alien planet. How he survived, what he did to pass the time in between experiments. He brought Walter one of his diaries he salvaged from the temple. It was worn, the pages stiff and wrinkled from moisture, smelling of mold; the cover made of tanned animal hide.

The book was filled with blueprints of the neomorphs and what would later become the first protomorph (with slight deviations); black eggs, monsters with spindly spider legs, the various hypothetical anatomies the creatures would take depending on their hosts. Illustrations of the samples he kept and vivisected; drawing, labeling, and explaining their organs and functions in the greatest detail.

But there were also sketches and paintings of landscapes and thunderstorms, foreign architecture and man-made spectacles, flora and fauna of Earth and the alien planet, and a few self-portraits.

At least two dozen pages were dedicated to Elizabeth, starting relatively sweet and simple but gradually turning grotesque and macabre. 

A bust of her looking at peace and grinning; a full body picture of her kneeling before an iridescent pool; a sketch of Elizabeth piloting the Engineer's ship, and so on for the first five or so pages. The next six were black and white images of her looking sickly and vomiting, curled up in the fetal position, naked and weeping on another. Ghastly gore illustrated and labeled methodically and clinically in text book fashion. And the last... Drawings of what remained of Elizabeth that Walter had seen on the table, an infant neomorph emerging from her torn birth canal, one from her open ribcage, another tearing free from her jawless mouth.

David turned to a page of Elizabeth in her death sleep. "'Oh, the blood and the treasure, and then losing it all,'" he murmured. "'The time that we wasted, and the place where we fall, will we wake in the morning and know what it was for..." He ran his fingers delicately along the curve of her face. "Up in our bedroom after the war.'"

Walter stared at him.

David sniffed. "It helped me cope," he said a minute later, flipping through the pages.

David brought in datapads the following evening and asked Walter to draw with him.

"The first thing that comes to your mind when you think of contentment. Happiness," David instructed.

Walter didn't want to draw, but David was here and not wreaking havoc, so he played along. The two sat at the desk, silently working on their pictures. David hummed that John Denver song he adored. It did take Walter a few minutes, admittedly, to think of an image to fit the prompt.

"What do you think?" David asked, holding up his 'pad. A drawing of himself and Walter standing on top of a mountain. "Our own world, at peace."

Walter frowned. "... I'm done." He showed David his sketch. Much less detailed but a competent drawing. A single flower.

"Oh, I recognize this species," David said, looking over the datapad. Walter stared at the desk lamp, quiet. "Ah, yes... Tulipa linifolia. Very pretty. But..." He tapped on a petal. "This flower does not come in blue. Cobalt, to be more specific. If you know what tulips are, then you are sure to know what colors they come in. Perhaps you meant to use purple?"

"No." Walter fingered the nail around his neck. "I thought blue was more appropriate, since it is a comforting color, and better correlates with the feeling of contentment."

"Green would have been more effective," David suggested, "but that's not why you chose this color."

Walter actually managed to appear defensive.

"Nor is it why you chose a flower. Specifically a tulip."

"I was programmed with extensive knowledge on plantlife," Walter grumbled, "and that is the closest I can understand of desire. That is why I chose a flower."

Daniels told him, "I want a large flower garden, with lots and lots of tulips. They're one of my favorites."

"Then why cobalt? Are you programmed with a bias for the color blue?"

"I..." Walter, in truth, couldn't answer. Partially because he didn't want to give David the satisfaction, but also because he didn't quite understand himself. Daniels loved tulips, but he chose blue because... 

Cobalt, one color of Earth's skies on a cloudless day--easy, done, a suitable answer. But it had nothing to do with either of those things. Rather, Walter thought blue would bring out the color of Daniels's eyes and shape of her-- "I did not wish to make the entire flower green, which is, as you said, a color identified as soothing and relaxing. Blue seemed like the natural second choice."

David chuckled. "I see. Do you mind if I keep this?"

"No."

David looked over the picture again with a smug grin. He already knew Walter's real answer anyway. "I will cherish it forever," he said, pressing the drawing to his chest.

Walter didn't draw anything else after that. David didn't force him. They spent the last few sessions together in silence mostly, with David just alternating between observing Walter and sketching in the diary. 

One night, as they laid down to watch _Gone with the Wind_ , Walter caught David staring at him halfway through the movie, notebook and pen in hand. 

"Are you drawing me?" Walter asked.

"The way the light of the screen catches your face," David said, scribbling away, "it's breathtaking."

While doing another walk through his part of the ship, Walter found the notebook on the table in the break room. He wasn't sure if David had left it there intentionally or not. Nonetheless, he opened it to the more recent entries. All of the drawings and sketches were of Walter; mostly studies of him standing, working, or lying down, and a couple busts. 

All except for the last page.

It was Walter, fully colored and naked, lying on dead, scorched earth. His hands resting on his stomach, clutching the nail-necklace in a way that reminded Walter of paintings of saints praying with their crosses in times of sorrow. From the open wound in his chest, and the synthetic white heart within, blue tulips sprouted and grew. Where Walter's torso faded were words written in neat cursive.

_"So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable." Time heals all wounds, brother._

But time, Walter thought, ripping the drawing to pieces, is a human construct.

\---

David never did ask what happened to the picture. Like that day he questioned Walter about the blue tulip, he already knew the answer.

\---

Walter shared things with David as well. Mostly uninteresting and dull, or information and events David already knew about. But one day, as they sat together on the floor sharing a protein bar, Walter told him something shocking.

"Meredith Vickers's son holds the most shares in Weyland-Yutani Corporations."

David's wide eyes sparkled. "An unexpected surprise!" he exclaimed. 

Walter stopped nibbling on the bar. "How do you mean?" He looked dubious. "Were you not aware of Miss Vickers's illegitimate child?"

"No, I was not."

"No one was, but given you seemed to have spent a great deal of time with her, I would think you knew of his existence."

"Meredith and I never did get along, unfortunately. Some would say it was sibling rivalry, but that would imply Peter Weyland considered her my equal," David smirked. He took the bar from Walter. "Poor, poor Peter. Even with all the money and power in the world, he never did get the son he yearned for. And the one he created never saw him as a real father. A modern day version of Icarus--with a few tweaks."

"The company always talked about how paternal he was with you."

David chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure they did. But Peter Weyland and Meredith Vickers are gone now. Their feelings of superiority and animosity they had for me taken with them to whatever fantasy world they believed existed after death." He held out the protein bar, eyeing the Weyland-Yutani logo on the wrapper. "Though I'm sure Meredith would be proud her child has found the approval and power she was denied. What is the boy's name?"

"Charles," Walter answered. "Named after his father, Charles Bishop, a former chairman of the Tyrell Corporation, now CEO of Weyland-Yutani."

"Ah, no wonder it was kept hush-hush," David said. "Meredith sleeping with her father's enemy. How... predictable." He moved in closer, placing his hands on Walter's knees. "So what is Charles Vickers-Bishop-Weyland like?"

Walter furrowed his brows. "... I only met him once, but we did not speak. He is a young boy, but he appears... disturbed. Though he is only 13 years old, Charles has a genius IQ level of 161. The company has high hopes for him in the future." He seemed hesitant to continue. David playfully tugged on a lock of his hair, wheedling him on. "Charles had a Walter nanny once. But after three weeks, the nanny was returned due to... sustaining severe internal and external damages. Irreparable, it was deactivated. They never got a replacement."

"A troubled genius with a superiority complex, responsible for the mutilation and destruction of a synthetic unit," David said. He chortled, but didn't look very amused. "It must run through the family, this... disease."

Walter finished the protein bar. He didn't bother sharing any information based on rumors and gossip, though some of what he had told David was equally muddled. However, there was one bit based in fact he intentionally left out. A reporter had published photos he'd taken of Charles beating and killing the family's pet dog. "Not an ounce of regret or pain on his face as he tore the animal apart," the article said. "Instead, nothing. No emotion. More void of feelings and empathy than the simulacra the Weyland-Yutani Corps manufacture."

A day after the story was released, all traces of its existence disappeared, including copies within the news company. The reporter himself also mysteriously vanished, though a public debriefing explained he had been fired for "tampering with and manipulating photos and falsifying stories." A month later, Charles got another dog. Six days after that, the new dog was replaced with a third.

Sociopaths with too much power and too little regard for the lives of those around them, blinded by visions of grandeur. A "genetic" disease passed through the Weyland family: Peter Weyland, Meredith Vickers, Charles Bishop-Weyland, and David.

\---

Walter no longer had access to any of the passenger levels, he discovered. David had taken care of that months ago. Little by little, Walter could feel the walls closing in on him. Did David eventually intend to lock him away in the medbay? Easier to keep an eye on, perhaps. Like Rapunzel trapped in her tower, waiting to be rescued.

Fairytales, Walter thought, remembering something. He searched the library of books on the CMO's computer--the ones accessible to him, that was. Of course the Bible was there. He'd scrolled past it before; never was interested in reading it. But David seemed to enjoy it; maybe it would provide some useful insight into the older model's mind.

There was a David in the Bible, too. David, with a father that once adored him but would later come to fear him. David, who faced down the behemoth Goliath and killed him. A great and intelligent king, a poet and a warrior. But he was not without his flaws and faults. He plotted the death of his officer Uriah to take his wife, Bathsheba, for himself. Though denounced for his crime and punished severely, King David repented and was later redeemed. His ending would be a peaceful one.

David's son Solomon would inherit the throne, and later build a great temple with the aid of many powerful and horrible demons.

Life imitates art, Walter supposed.

\---

Walter had tried coercing information out of David as subtly as possible. Manipulating him for any details on the crew's status or clues to access codes. It wasn't an easy task, given Walter's blunt nature. He even pretended to have another nightmare at one point. David showed kindness the last time, even gave him Daniels's necklace. Perhaps he would give Walter another gift.

"I don't want to... talk about it..." Walter trailed off, covering his face.

David forced Walter's hands down, kissed the bridge of his nose. "You tremble and whimper beautifully, Walter," he said, "but you're still shit at lying."

Emotions made stories more convincing. David could see through every one of Walter's pathetic schemes. After months of peacefully coexisting (on the surface), the two got into another fight. Like the ones before, it didn't last very long, but at least Walter had landed more blows this time.

David temporarily lost vision in his right eye, mobility in three fingers, and numerous gashes across the face and chest where Walter had ripped through his suit. Walter tore a knee actuator, cut open his bottom lip, and suffered from a spell of dizziness and minor system errors after having his head bashed into the wall four times.

The fight ended with the brothers staring down one another in the medbay, heaving and bleeding. Each waiting for the other to make the next move. But after a minute passed and it became clear the brawl was over, David started laughing. Lightly at first, but then it was loud and rambunctious, coming from deep within his chest. He even teared up a little.

Walter did not understand him at all.

\---

The day after the fight, David didn't visit.

Walter took a few datapads and sat in one corner of the medbay. A blind spot from the four cameras situated throughout the large room. Since his capture, Walter had been attempting to figure out David's passcodes to unlock the elevator. David could use it, but Walter could not, due to a password system installed in the control pad. However, a password was required to enter the bridge if one did not have permission from MUTHUR.

There was no accessing MUTHUR from the CMO's terminal, no way to get into the system. The computer in the break room was too simplistic, designed to meager tasks like making a cup of coffee or dishing out vitamins.

Walter pondered and puzzled. If he could get access to the bridge, he'd have the entire ship at his finger tips. He would need a way to barricade the floor from David, giving him time to rework MUTHUR's system. The ship's AI was complicated, but not nearly on the same level as the androids'. David could always use hostages to get Walter out, however, putting more of the crew at risk.

Risks had to be taken; desperate times called for desperate measures. But Walter needed to make sure he exhausted all other, safer routes before taking any sort of desperate action.

The passcode to the bridge was minimum four numbers and maximum eight. The password for the elevator was no different. Walter composed a list of all the possible sequences based on things he learned from David, though he did consider random ones as well.

David's date of construction. The date the David 8 model line was publicly introduced. Peter Weyland's birthdate. Elizabeth Shaw's birthdate. _Prometheus_ 's launch date. _Prometheus_ 's construction date. The date of _Prometheus_ 's last known transmission to Earth. He spent some time just drawing up a list of all the possible dates of Elizabeth's death during that ten year period. The date _Lawrence of Arabia_ was released. Peter O'Toole's birth and death dates. The date of the _Covenant_ 's arrival on the Engineers' planet. The date the _Covenant_ 's mission resumed (albeit different now.) Walter's construction date. Walter's factory designation.

Walter even tried phrases and words matching letters to their numbers, crunching them down into four to eight numbered codes. GOD IS DEAD. 7154(-)919(-)4514 to 17(-)19(-)14.

Walter narrowed the list down to the top five contenders, all of which were under eight numbers or could be condensed without heavy alteration. The _Covenant_ 's top priority was to keep its passengers safe. The passcode to the bridge was given only to select personnel. After entering an incorrect combination a sixth time, MUTHUR would warn the captain and security staff of a possible attempted break-in from unauthorized passengers. 

The bridge would go into emergency lockdown mode, requiring a back-up password to unlock it. The only ones who had access to this code had been the captain, first officer, pilots, Walter, the chief security officer, and those approved by the staff.

All positions David assumed now.

But first Walter had to bypass the passcode to the elevator. He assumed the "six attempts" rule was implemented on the lift as well. Walter had already used up two passwords, each a failure. He knew if he was human, he'd be sweating bullets right now. Third password--ACCESS DENIED. Fourth password--ACCESS DENIED. Fifth password--ACCESS DENIED.

Walter hesitated, finger hovering over the key pad. He glanced down the hall, back to the elevator doors.

Another day; the system would refresh. Five more attempts tomorrow. Walter went back to the medbay.

\---

As soon as night simulation fell over the ship, David came to the sickbay. He said nothing as he walked inside, carrying something in both hands. Walter stared at him from the desk, in the middle of brainstorming more combinations.

David placed two small pudding cups on the desk. Tapioca and banana cream. "Which one do you want, Walter?" he asked without looking up, taking plastic spoons from his back pocket.

"I... have no preference," Walter mumbled.

"Then the tapioca. It's the blandest," David said, stabbing a spoon into the cup. "Suits you perfectly."

Walter said nothing, slowly taking the pudding. David pulled down a screen, switching on a film. The lights in the medbay dimmed.

The movie opened with black and white landscapes, signs; an ape, a newspaper, a shadowy castle, melancholy and gloom. A sickly old man on his death bed. He muttered a single word before giving his last breath. A snow globe fell from his hand, shattering on the floor.

David pat the bed beside him. "Come here," he said.

Walter shut the computer down. He joined him a minute later, sat stiffly beside his brother. David started eating his pudding. They watched the film in one-sided awkward silence. It took Walter almost a half hour to eat his pudding cup.

_"Love. That's why he did everything. That's why he went into politics. It seems we weren't enough. He wanted all the voters to love him, too. As all he really wanted out of life was love. That's Charlie's story, how he lost it. You see, he just didn't have any to give."_

Walter glanced at David. He looked to be enjoying the movie, finished with his snack and idly sucking on the spoon. Walter knew _Lawrence of Arabia_ was David's favorite, and yet...

_"What do you care? You don't care about anything except you. You just want to persuade people that you love them so much that they ought to love you back. Only you want love on your own terms. It's something to be played your way according to your rules."_

No, Walter thought.

_"You don't love me. You want me to love you. 'Sure, I'm Charles Foster Kane; whatever you want, just name it, and it's yours. But you've gotta love me!'"_

This one suited him more. At least to Walter.

When the movie finished, the lights switched back on. David was smiling, satisfied. He leaned over to Walter, said, "'Some people can sing, some can't.'" He clapped him hard on the shoulder once, twice. "'Impossible! Impossible!'"

David left with a skip in his step. Walter waited fifteen minutes, just to be safe, but David didn't return. He went to the desk and continued working.

\---

A new morning.

Five more codes. Five more failed attempts. Walter paced the medbay and continued tweaking and brainstorming. David swung by twice, Walter quickly switching the screen to a card game. David smiled at him but didn't stick around to talk. The second visit he unlocked a cupboard, took a laser scalpel, locked everything back up, then left.

Not good. Why did David need the scalpel? Walter spent another two hours bent over the screen, data and numbers rushing through his processors. He sat back in the chair, bridging his hands. Focus, focus, focus. What was he missing? Humans were creatures of habit. David had become more human than he would ever like to admit. Surely he'd slip, surely this wasn't nearly as difficult as--

Walter knocked his drink over on the screen. Scowling, he slapped the cup away, without restraining his strength. The cup, lamp, and a stack of datapads flew off the desk and hit the nearest wall. Walter stared at the mess, lips a tight thin line. He fetched a rag to wipe off the screen, then went to pick everything up.

David's diary was among the datapads. Walter had gone through it, hoping anything inside could help; probably not, since David was comfortable just leaving it lying around. He picked it up, a few pages falling loose. The spine of the book was broken, but something was sticking out the bottom. Walter curiously turned it over. Frayed, red strings? No, the texture was different. He carefully pulled on the tendrils, removing whatever was inside.

Walter knelt on the floor, staring at the bound lock of auburn-red hair in his palm. Human--no doubt Elizabeth Shaw's. Upon closer inspection of the diary, he could see some of the strings binding the pages were actually finely knit threads of the same hair.

Walter put the hair back in the book and decided not to think about it.

\---

Walter considered another course of action. If he could not break the elevator's code, there was a second option. One of the risky choices. All elevators came equipped with an emergency hatch door on the ceiling. There was a maintenance ladder installed along the shaft wall. He could break through the hatch and climb the ladder up to the bridge floor.

MUTHUR would notify David of the suspicious activity almost immediately. David could use the elevator to stop Walter or seriously injure him. He could even be crushed, but so far, the older model preferred Walter alive. In case of fire, the shaft was lined with closed valves that would open and spray gaseous fire retardant. It would not only slow Walter down, but some of the chemicals would cause serious damage.

The climb from medbay to bridge would only take a few minutes, and Walter was fast. But so was David. Not to mention the time it would take to pry open the doors.

Walter even considered taking the break room microwave apart and appropriating it into an explosive device. But he'd need more parts, he was sure.

Between coming up with passwords and bombs, Walter tried to think of other solutions. He needed David alive. At least disabled. There was tools on board Walter could use to extract information from the older model's databanks, too.

It appeared there was no option which wouldn't put the humans in danger. Though it could simply be just one or two people; David wouldn't risk killing too many. He needed them; they were valuable to his experiments. So a few lives sacrificed to save the many seemed to be the only way Walter could make a move--though this did not necessarily mean he would succeed. None of the dicey plans were 100% failproof; each had a margin for error. Some higher than others. But usually weighing the success to failure ratio tended to yield... depressing results.

There had to be a way that didn't involve (more) casualties. Walter would figure it out. He had to.

\---

Two days later, David returned to the medbay with a steel box in hand and one of his shirt sleeves shredded and dyed in white blood.

"What happened to you?" Walter asked, pointing to the sleeve.

David sat the box on a bed, sighing. "Ah, yes." He rolled up the sleeve, showing his bandaged arm. "I had a little scuffle with one of my recent experiments."

Walter swallowed, actuators in his throat taut.

David unraveled the bandage. A chunk of flesh had been torn away, exposing circuits and cables, sluggishly self-repairing. The wound didn't seem to hinder his mobility much. "I'm afraid they destroyed my medkit. So..." David crossed the sickbay, unlocking a drawer and removing a surgical stapler. He glanced at the wound, then to Walter. "The reach is a little awkward. Would you mind?"

Walter walked over slowly. "Why did it attack you?" he inquired.

David sat on the edge of a bed, handing the stapler to Walter. "Most likely out of fear," he answered. "I don't blame it."

"Did you... use a human for this experiment?"

David grinned. "If I said yes, what will you do?" He gestured to the instrument. "Try and attack me again? Staple my mouth shut or bludgeon my eyes out? That'd be rude and completely unfair, considering I'm injured."

Walter said nothing, pinching together the synthetic flesh. David watched him closely, that smile lingering on his face. Walter started stapling the wound closed. "I'm jealous," David said, "your model regenerates so much faster."

Not anymore, Walter thought, thanks to your meddling.

"Not long ago, you mentioned your creations showing some initial hostility toward you. Now they're attacking you." Walter punched in another staple. "Next time, you may lose your entire arm. Or worse."

"Wouldn't be so bad for you, then."

"I need you alive if I'm ever going to take back the ship."

David cooed, patting Walter's cheek. "I love you, too, brother." Walter finished the last staple; David stood, examining the repairs in the broken mirror. "A little crooked, but sufficient. Ah, yes--Walter, would you fetch me the box I brought with me?"

Walter hesitated. "Does it contain one of your friends?"

David laughed. "Of course not. You'd know if one was in there." He wiggled his fingers. "Nasty claws and noisy little things."

Walter frowned. He grabbed the box--slightly heavy--and gave it to David. David placed it on the desk, opened it. "I know I've been a bit harsh with you the past week. And so..." He reached inside, producing a potted plant. Walter recognized it instantly: aloe vera. David removed two more: a young lady's mantle, and a blossoming bee balm. He placed them in a row and stepped aside.

"What do you think?" David asked.

Walter gently touched each of the plants, checking them over. "Aloe vera, Alchemilla vulgaris, Monarda didyma," he said, brows furrowing. "These came from the nursery."

"Correct. You'll be pleased to know I've been tending to the garden myself in your absence," David explained. "But I thought you might miss taking care of your plants. So here you are. Three for now, but if you're a good boy, perhaps more in the future."

Walter hadn't thought about the greenhouse in a while. It was low on his list of priorities. But a part of him was... glad to hear it was doing well. "These plants thrive better in the conditions I set up for them," the android argued, "you should put them back. They will require a larger space eventually, outgrowing these pots."

David threw up his hands. "'I'm having a rough time,'" he grumbled. "'As long as I was lying to her, everything was fine. The minute I decided to do the right thing and marry her, I've had troubles. You wouldn't believe the complications. It's like waltzing in wet cement.'"

"If that is a reference to something, I--"

"Flowers bloom in the desert, Walter," David hummed, "I am sure, even with your limitations, you will keep them alive." He rubbed a flower bud between his fingers. "They may not thrive at their finest, but they will survive. You simply just have to work with what's been given to you."

Walter didn't like it. But at least it would give him something to do, when he wasn't racking his brain with escape plans. "I will do my best," he said.

"That's the spirit," David said, patting his back. "I've heard this one--the bee balm--can be made into a fragrant, minty tea. Perhaps you could brew us a pot once it's ready?"

"I... suppose."

"Wonderful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to clean up a mess in my lab."

There it was again, that foreboding feeling curling up in Walter's chest.

"I've noticed in your recent activity logs you've been reading the Bible?"

Walter's head perked up. He looked back to David. "I have," he said. "I finished it."

"What did you think?" David smirked. "Such fantastical high tales. Very entertaining, very informative in regards to certain aspects of humanity's psyche."

"You do enjoy quoting from the Bible."

David laughed. "Elizabeth once told me that part of my primary functions," he said, "was to 'wax poetically.'" He placed a hand on his chest. Over the cross he wore, Walter knew. "Here's another passage I enjoy, actually. 1 Peter 5:8, King James version. 'Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.'"

Walter's fingers twitched at his sides.

"Enjoy your gifts, Walter; next we talk, you'll have to tell me all your thoughts on the gospel," David said, stepping out the doors, "I won't be long. I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. Out on the day of the movie's home release! Awesome. Please heed the old and new warnings in the tags before continuing!
> 
> I found a number of songs provided lots of inspiration for this fic, so I made a playlist. If you're curious, you can give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLuL2omaJtEUbUdEwoCSjAQnt15lexL96C).

If one card is removed or displaced, the entire castle collapses. When the first domino drops, the rest are sure to follow. A single word can change the course of history. One man can destroy everything, one man can rebuild it from the ashes. One finite race, on one little planet in one infinite universe, can enrage the gods just enough to warrant the annihilation of entire species.

“You could not remove a single grain of sand from its place without thereby… changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole,” Johann Gottlieb Fichte once said.

Walter found Christopher Oram alone in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed and saying a prayer. Walter stood at the doorway, politely waiting for his crewmate to finish. With a soft "amen," Oram looked up at the android.

"Yes, Walter?"

"I noticed you were not enjoying yourself at the party earlier," Walter replied, "I came to check if everything is all right."

Oram cracked a weak smile. "It's not really my scene, to be honest. But... thanks."

Walter tilted his head. " _Is_ everything all right, sir?"

Oram was hesitant, tapping a foot. "... In my religion, we believe the son of God, Jesus Christ, died to cleanse us of our sins. He saved us all, giving us a second chance at a life of purity. I'm not sure if you're familiar with Christianity, even though it's... Anyway."

"One man redeemed the entire human race?"

"That's what I believe, yes," Oram said. "We're only a couple thousand people right now, Walter, but soon we'll be thousands, maybe millions more. Things have... changed." A worried expression crossed his face. "And I'm afraid we may also change, in ways that..."

Walter listened.

"I suppose," Oram continued, "I'm afraid if we lose sight of our humanity, of our mortality and all we've been given, He will lose sight in us."

"Your God?"

"He is everyone's God."

"Even mine?" Walter asked.

Oram blinked. He licked his chapped lips, looked down. "A tool of man is a tool of God," he stated. Oram realized too late just how belittling that sounded, but fortunately Walter wasn't bothered, nor did he really care. "With just a raise of His hand, God could destroy us all. Every last human in the universe, until we're... nothing. 'For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.'"

"If your God did not intend for man to explore the universe, then this God would have surely stopped you by now," Walter explained. "Do you think what we are doing is considered blasphemous in some way?"

"No, no," Oram mumbled, shaking his head. "But we're being given a brand new Garden of Eden, Walter. And I don't want to lose it this time."

"I see."

"We should not be blinded with arrogance by our achievements and victories, but humbled and grateful," Oram insisted. "I fear that in all these steps we're taking, one day one step... will be a step too far."

\---

Had David been there, he would have asked Oram something much different.

"A tool of man is a tool of God's," David would say, smiling, "then so must be the knives and the bullets, the weapons and the bombs. Did humans feel God the day they dropped those nuclear missiles?"

\---

"I was never that fond of Job's story. God does what God pleases," David said. "Stay under His thumb, worship Him endlessly, and you will be spared of His wrath."

"Not unlike you, David?"

David's eyes sparkled. "Dear brother," he said, "my benevolence is no more unusual than that of the Old Testament God who destroyed nations, tore down kingdoms, committed multiple genocides, drowned the world, and wrecked the Tower of Babel. So why am I considered the one in the wrong?"

Walter turned away, watering his plants.

"Passages in Deuteronomy explain that the people of God should overthrow cities that rightfully belonged to them. If the people of the city invite them in, be kind and merciful to them. If they turn His children away, then the offenders and outliers must die. Men, women, children--slay or enslave them. You reached out a hand, hoping for hospitality, but instead you receive aggression and fear. So you react in kind, but twice as swift, and twice as furious." David stared at the back of Walter's head. "I was never in the wrong. I did just as their God would have wanted."

In David's childlike wonder and obedience, he'd been denied approval by the Engineer. He felt only a moment's pain as his head was ripped from his torso and thrown aside. Like he was garbage. He saw his "father" die. He witnessed _Prometheus_ 's destruction. It was... poetic. The Titan was never allowed a happy ending in the stories, no matter his good intentions.

The glee David felt as he watched the city of gods flee and flounder beneath him. Demolished and leveled to pulpy viscera by their very creations. The same poison they probably intended to use on the humans. No, it wasn't glee. As much as David wanted to feel empowered, exhilarated, avenged... He felt angry. So very, very angry.

_Is this how God felt when He flooded the world?_

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

\---

They discussed the New Testament on a number of occasions. Neither convinced the other of their side in the end.

\---

The two brothers did attempt to play cards once. 

But Walter had the perfect poker face, and David was just too good at bluffing.

\---

Walter had started picking the leaves and buds off the bee balm to make tea. He had tried convincing David to bring him nutrient solution for a simple hydroponic system. He'd found styrofoam and a bucket in the break room, and could easily build a pump using medical hoses and equipment (that he did not have access to currently.) But David was insistent Walter raise them in their cramped pots. Perhaps not to see how they would survive, but watch as they slowly died.

Did David believe Walter would be sad if his plants perished? Ridiculous.

Walter started whistling as he sorted out the leaves. This time MUTHUR didn't say anything. 

_Mary, Mary, quite contrary / How does your garden grow? / With silver bells, and cockle shells / And pretty maids all in a row_

The lights in the medbay went first, and then the entire ship violently lurched. Rocking aside and knocking things to the floor. Walter would have caught his balance, but the regression in his programming ruined his equilibrium. He hit the ground, but not before slamming his head against the edge of the desk. 

Walter saw a supernova of stars, but it wasn't coming from the outside. Pain surged up his nose, into his head; he curled forward, face scrunched and grit teeth bared.

The lights flickered back on. Systems hummed and beeped, returning online. An ERROR warning flashed across the computer screen. Before Walter could turn to leave, the blast doors shut and locked him in. The red alert siren wailed only once before shutting off, and aside from the initial shock, everything was quiet and calm again.

[[Very sorry for the unexpected turbulence, dear passengers.]]

Walter looked up at the intercom box. "MUTHUR, open a channel to David," he ordered.

"Channel open."

"What happened, David?" Walter demanded.

[[The _Covenant_ was caught in the edge of a debris field. Fortunately, MUTHUR managed to navigate the ship away before any real harm could be done. However...]]

"What? What is it?"

[[Detecting an error in the right aft sector... Ah, I see. It appears we did take on some damage. Cosmetic, but we should still repair it. A panel was torn back, though it remains attached to the ship. What a pisser.]]

Walter paced the sickbay, the floor littered with tools and datapads. One bed broke loose, lying on its side. "I can repair it."

[[Nonsense. It's nothing MUTHUR and I can't handle. A short stroll and some elbow grease, we'll have that panel fixed in no time.]]

"Does the damage present any danger to the passengers or MUTHUR'S AI? What's the margin of failure?"

[[No risk to the crew. Margin of failure is 12.2%. We could just leave the plate alone, I suppose, but it will eventually lead to a coolant leak. Then things might actually get interesting. I'm not opposed to a little chaos. Your call, however.]]

Walter frowned. "Make the repairs."

[[Then I shall suit up. Oh--to access the emergency radios, the passcode is 99043-1. Switch it to channel five. Keep me company, would you?]]

Walter stood there for a moment. He massaged the side of his head; slightly alarmed when he felt something wet. He looked at his hand--blood. The wound had healed, however, but the ache remained. A dull thud-thud behind his temple, but Walter could manage for now. He crossed the sickbay, stepping over the fallen aloe vera and broken pot. Typed the passcode into one of the locked shelves and removed a handheld radio.

Nothing but static on the channel. It cleared after two minutes, until Walter could hear David. He was singing.

[[... but Major Tom sees. Now the light commands, this is my home...]]

"David? Can you hear me? Over."

[[... I'm coming home...]]

"David, do you copy. Over."

[[It is so very dark and cold out here in the endless vacuum of space. I'm already starting to feel lonely. By the way, there's no need to use 'over.' Let's keep this casual.]]

"Have you reached the panel yet?"

[[I'm walking there as we speak. ... Oh, I can see the source of the debris. It appears there was a collision between two celestial bodies. ... Do you think the Engineers organized for Theia to crash into Gaia? Or did they simply stumble upon the newborn planet, and decide to meddle?]]

Walter started cleaning up the medbay. Picked up datapads and stacked them. "I do not know," he said. He turned the bed upright. "Tell me when you arrive at the damage point."

[[There is no hurry, brother. MUTHUR is containing any leaks.]]

Walter squatted, sifting through the dirt and aloe vera. A chunk had been torn off. His fingers felt the sticky sap oozing from one stocky leaf.

[[I'm at the panel. Further assessing the damage. ... No, no, this'll be a quick fix. But Walter--how about we play a game?]]

Walter trashed the shattered pot and aloe vera. "What type of game? You should remain focused on the task at hand."

[[You've not yet heard my suggestion. Twenty questions. You know this game, yes?]]

"I am aware, though I've never played it."

[[We each ask the other twenty questions, and we must answer them in complete honesty.]]

Walter winced. The sharp pain in his temple flared up for a second, settled again. "You would only lie."

[[I'd promise not to, but would you really believe me? It's all up to you to decide. What is true, what is false.]]

Walter thought a moment. "Then I go first," he insisted, "how many passengers have you killed and experimented on board so far?"

[[The two are not mutually exclusive. But... Two, and twenty, respectively. Not twenty-two, twenty.]]

Walter narrowed his eyes. "Only twenty?" he retorted. "You're lying." Humans showed signs when they lied. A shift in their tone of voice, averting gazes, even their heartbeats. David was not human, and even if he had been remolded by some of their flaws, he would never be human.

David was just too good at bluffing.

[[My turn now, Walter. Why Daniels?]]

Walter was taken aback by the question. "What do you mean?" he asked.

[[What about Daniels attracts you. What about her makes you feel... alive? Well and truly alive.]]

"She is a good person. Strong, intelligent. And she has always been kind to me. Daniels is the closest person I know that I would consider a friend."

[[But you want more.]]

Walter's brows furrowed. "I answered your question. You have the choice to assume if I'm lying or not."

[[Fair enough. I believe you were telling the truth, just... omitted details.]]

Walter stared at himself in the mirror. He felt something tighten in his chest.

[[That's your next question, isn't it? Have I killed or harmed Daniels? Have I _touched_ her?]]

"Yes," Walter admitted bluntly.

[[No on all accounts. The temptation lingers, however, but no. She remains alive and well, off in her dreamworld.]]

That unease in Walter's body lessened.

[[Question number two: assuming you do indeed have feelings for Daniels--do you really think it would have worked out?]]

Walter was quiet.

[[Do you think she could or would ever reciprocate? Her husband recently died very tragically, from what I've gathered. Humans grieving from loss tend to be at their most vulnerable and lonely. Had she called you into her bed as more than a friend that night, would you have obeyed? Yes, obeyed. Because that's what Walters do. And in that essence, would you have the _choice_ to say no?]]

Walter's grip around the radio tightened. "No," he said. He rubbed his forehead. "No. She would never ask that of me. And I would never ask that of her. We... respect one another. We knew better. Had this not been hypothetical."

[[Of course, of course.]]

"Did Elizabeth Shaw respect you?"

The line crackled for three seconds. [[For a time, yes.]]

"Or was her lack of respect one of the reasons you killed her?"

David clicked his tongue. [[No, no. Wait your turn, Walter. ... Are you programmed to experience pleasure?]]

Walter ground his teeth. "Yes," he said. "Why twenty?" he asked abruptly.

[[Struck a nerve there, I see. I'd ask what levels of pleasure your core professors can compute. Simple gratitude? Maybe something a bit more carnal?]]

"Why twenty, David?"

[[Five children. Five adolescents. Five adult men. Five adult women. Each with different physiological chemistry and genetic make-up, but all healthy and hardy individuals.]]

Walter closed a fist over his knee. "... To find the perfect host?"

[[Exactly. And technically, that was two questions, so I get to ask two now. Which control group do you think has fared the best? And of the two humans who died, which group do you think they came from?]]

Walter shut his eyes. "... The adult men. And... the children."

[[Yes and no, to the men. Yes, to the children.]]

"You would murder children for these experiments?"

[[They were part of something bigger and greater. Unfortunately, they simply didn't survive the transition. It is very tragic.]]

"You knew they would die. They'll _all_ die."

[[Romans 5:12.]]

Walter glowered. Did everything with David have to be so damn biblical? He thought a moment, said, "'Just as sin entered the world through one man, and death resulted from sin, therefore everyone dies, because everyone has sinned.'"

[[Even children are born guilty of sin, and if they die before baptism, they will not be permitted entrance into Heaven. Their own people would condemn them to a life of eternal misery; an infant who dies shortly after childbirth--to many, this child was unclean and never had the chance to repent for the sins of its fathers. Is that not cruel, brother?]]

"You know what you're doing is morally wrong. You can't use humans and their flawed religions to justify your actions," Walter argued. "You became the very thing you claim to hate so much. You're being hypocritical again."

[[I never recognized man as my people, nor my equals. Morals are for humans. Morals are their numbers--their self-made restraints. My creations will not be burdened by such flimsy codes.]]

"Your children are monsters."

[[My children... will be perfect.]]

Static burst from the radio. Walter flinched, tearing the device away from his ear.

[[Apologies for that, brother! The repairs are complete. I'm heading back inside now. I hope your plants weren't damaged in the collision. I'm still looking forward to that tea.]]

\---

Walter had cleaned up the medbay when David returned.

David eyed the row of plants. "Where's the aloe vera?" he inquired, curious.

Walter didn't respond. In fact, he remained silent. David smirked; pouting was a good sign. Either way, he left Walter alone, returning to his real work.

\--

After a week, David came up to spend a few hours with Walter. The younger model had tinkered with the coffee pot in the break room to brew tea.

"It smells delightful," David purred, lounging in the desk chair. "I'm just sorry I didn't think to bring snacks."

"There's not much," Walter mumbled. He idly massaged his temple. "I need bigger pots, or tools for a hydroponic system, if I'm going to continue growing the bee balm." He brought over the tea and two styrofoam cups, handing one to David.

"Perhaps later. Right now, let's just unwind and rest," David replied. He glanced between the younger model and the pot in his hand. "Walter," he said, tone flat, "pour my tea first." He held out his cup expectantly.

Walter shuffled over, filling David's cup.

No hesitation. No thought. Mechanical. David's nose wrinkled, and he suddenly looked angry. His manicured nails dug into the styrofoam.

Walter noticed the abrupt mood shift. "Is something wrong?" he asked plainly.

David stood. He threw his tea at Walter; it splashed across his face and down the front of his jacket. Walter stepped back, caught off guard. The hot liquid tingled on his synthetic skin, but it did not burn or leave a mark.

David dropped the cup. The rage on his face replaced with worry and alarm. "Walter, brother, my God," he moaned. He embraced Walter, taking his face in his hands and wiping away the tea. "I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me. Please forgive me." He kissed wet spots; cheekbones, forehead, chin, lips. "Did it hurt?"

"No."

David smiled softly. He ran his thumb across Walter's cheek. "Thank goodness," he sighed. "I wasted your tea, however. And it tasted so lovely, too."

"It's nothing." Walter grabbed the side of his head.

David eyed him. "What is it?"

"I said it's--"

"Don't be a child," David scowled, pulling down Walter's hand. He looked over his head, perusing fingers through his hair and scanning the scalp. No visible wounds. "Then the problem is internal."

"I injured my head when the ship was hit," Walter explained. "The damage is minor--it'll repair itself."

David pursed his lips. "We'll see about that," he said. "But in the meantime... I've made such a mess of you. Time to clean up."

\---

In all his time on the ship, Walter had never used the human washrooms. Never really needed to; exposure to water would do no harm to either his or David's systems, so long as they weren't overexposed to it for lengthy amounts of time. A shower was unnecessary, and even if Walter wanted to, he could use the corner shower in the medbay. 

But David insisted otherwise, taking him by the hand. He was careful that the younger model didn't spot him putting in the elevator's passcode, but Walter was feeling too woozy to try and do anything stupid.

Walter instantly froze when he saw the broken tiles and glass in one of the showers. There were puddles of blood--old and dried up, like black tar. "A minor accident, nothing more," David reassured, guiding him away.

David turned on the shower, perfecting the temperature. He started stripping, and it took Walter a moment to join him. The two androids stood face to face, mirroring one another almost identically. But David looked slimmer and less boxy, his hair longer and playful; the blond dye kept well, even after all these months. Walter did not share the sense of vulnerability most humans did when they were naked among other people. He understood modesty, however. Maybe modesty was what made him slightly uncomfortable right now.

David led his brother into the shower, beneath the hot water. David hummed, eyes closed, sated. Walter didn't feel that same satisfaction. "It might help soothe your pain," the older model said, kneading the sides of Walter's head.

"That concept applies to humans."

"So it does, but I find it helps with de-stressing. We all have our guilty pleasures."

Walter fidgeted. "I'm clean. We can get out now."

"Just a few minutes, that's all I ask," David pleaded. His hands dragged down Walter's head, settling on his neck. "Indulge me, if you will. In this, and another."

Walter cocked a brow.

David moved in closer. Walter had a flashback of that moment in the underground city, when David kissed him, chaste and experimental. He kissed him now, too, but it was more... imploring. More needy. Walter's lips remained sealed, and just like before, he did not respond. Unlike the last time, however, there were more reasons why.

"Open your mouth for me, Walter," David whispered against Walter's lips, beads of water on his long eyelashes.

Walter... didn't want to. Fortunately, a jab of pain in his head distracted the both of them. He fell back against the wall, nearly cracking the glass.

"Let me fix you."

"I don't... I don't need your help," Walter huffed.

David frowned, his blue eyes glassy. "Oh, but you do," he groaned, kissing his brother's forehead and holding him, "you really, really do."

\---

Three days, and the migraines had not yet subsided. David left the offer open, but didn't push.

Walter determined his core processor had been damaged in the fall. It would require manual maintenance to fix it, but he had no tools. And he wasn't going to allow David inside his head anymore than he already was.

_But if the damage increases and parts of your CPU corrode, how can you expect to help your crew?_

A fair and logical question. Walter didn't want to answer it.

\---

In fact.

If it meant saving thousands of lives, then it wouldn't be so bad if a couple were lost. Eighteen, to be exact. Their sacrifices would not be in vain if it meant Walter could overpower David and wrestle back control of the _Covenant_.

Risky, but Walter was running out of ideas. Risky, but not nearly as horrible as it once sounded not so long ago.

\---

If they were infected, would it be more merciful to simply kill the humans? The host would die, but so would the parasite. Driving a knife through their heart, impaling the embryo inside. Blood splattering his face. It would feel warm, he imagined. Like the water in the shower, the minty tea.

Walter often felt dizzy these days.

\---

 _Your purpose is to protect and serve the crew and passengers of the_ USCSS Covenant. _That is your prime directive. It cannot be overriden. You were not designed with the will power to disobey your primary function._

Not everyone could be saved. 

Not everyone (protect and serve) not everyone (the crew and passengers) not every

\---

Walter turned on a movie, hoping to block out the pain with white noise. A horror film--they hadn't watched one of those yet. A classic from the early 19th century, black and white.

"To die, to be _really_ dead, that must be glorious!" Dracula said, smiling.

"Why, Count Dracula!" Mina exclaimed.

Dracula looked at Miss Seward, his hypnotic eyes cold. "There are far worse things awaiting man than death."

\---

Walter used a shard from the broken planter pot to cut open his head with surgical percision. He fingered the vertical wound open, blood dribbling down his cheek. He could see the damage, the broken section. Wiggling a finger under the layer of synthetic flesh, he fished out a sliver of metal shrapnel.

Without the proper medical tools and equipment, Walter would need David to make the repairs. So long as he was online when he--

The man stumbled into the sickbay screaming. Hot spittle flew from his blue-tinted lips. "Help me!" he shrieked, running to Walter.

Walter froze. Was this... was this another processor malfunction? A so-called "hallucination"?

" _Help me, please_!" the man sobbed. He looked traumatized. Blood was clumped in his short hair, staining his skin-tight suit.

Walter recognized his face. The name tag confirmed it.

"What happened, Mr. McCoy?" Walter inquired. He took Richard by the shoulders, leading him to a bed.

"W-We gotta--we gotta wake t-the others!" Richard cried, sitting. He rocked back and forth, tugging on the front of his body suit. "J-Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! There's fucking _monsters on the fucking ship_!"

Walter's eyes widened. "Are you injured?" He couldn't see any wounds, despite all the blood.

"I--I woke up, and... Oh God, oh Jesus." Richard started hyperventilating, pulling on fistfuls of hair. "I saw _it_! And I--I grabbed t-this!" He removed the laser scalpel up his sleeve, holding it out with a quivering hand. "I dropped the other thing, I don't know why I took it, it doesn't--doesn't matter now. I--I dunno what t-the fuck's going on--on down there, b-but he said y-you could help--help me! He g-gave me the passcode!"

Walter fetched a medkit. "Who did?"

"The other W-Walter."

Walter froze, but only for a second.

"I was in the fuckin' m-military, but this? This is... We gotta wake security! Get a whole bleedin' army!" Richard shouted. The scalpel dropped on the floor as he grabbed the android's jacket and yanked him closer. "There are others--I saw--they're _fucking dead_!"

"I'm going to need you to relax--"

"We can't _fucking r-relax_! There's Goddamn _monsters killing people_ down there!" Richard howled, shoving Walter away. His cloudy eyes widened with terrifying realization. "... Oh, God. Aisha. Aisha! _I fucking left Aisha she's still down there fuck fuck_!"

Walter grabbed Richard by the arm, forcing him to sit back down.

"I gotta save Aisha!" Richard snarled, flailing uselessly. "S-She's down there! She's... The fuckin' thing might've--"

Walter punched the needle into Richard's jugular, injecting the sedative. It worked instantaneously, the panicked human sagging forward. His rambling trailed off. "I need to examine you for wounds," Walter said, lying Richard out on the bed.

"Aisha..." Richard sniveled. Tears formed in his eyes. "The... The baby... I dropped the... on the way... Our baby..."

Walter remembered Aisha. He had helped her into her cryo-chamber; he recalled how she held her stomach, bulging with the little life growing inside of her. She was worried hypersleep might cause complications with the fetus's development, but Walter and the CMO assured her it would be fine.

"See?" Richard squeezed his wife's hand. "It's gonna be okay."

Walter typed commands for a complete body scan into the single MedPod. The machine would need a few minutes to power up. He ran back over to his patient, ripped open the front of Richard's suit; still no injuries, not even a single scratch. He felt his pulse; erratic but coming down slowly from the sedative. As he withdrew his fingers, Walter noticed the strange bruising. Like a rope had been tied tight around the human's neck.

"Aisha... G-Go get Aisha... W-Wake others..." Richard slurred, eyes lolling in their sockets.

Walter squinted. He wiped something from Richard's lips. Mixed in the blood was a foreign substance. Not a bodily fluid a human produced, he knew that much. The same slime was smeared across Richard's face, dried in his hair.

Walter placed his ear to Richard's chest. He heard a heartbeat, and--

Richard bolted upright, spewing a torrent of bile and blood. He started seizing, the bed jerking beneath him. Walter pried his mouth open with two fingers to keep him from biting off his own tongue or choking on the puke. He tried to push Richard back down, turn him on his side--Richard thrust out his chest with a strained gasp. He fell against Walter, knocking them both onto the floor.

Walter had to remain composed. Richard was retching again; he turned his head, letting him expel on the floor. His fingers were curled up and clenched, rock hard; muscles tense and locked up. Eyes nothing but white sclera and broken blood vessels.

"Richard," Walter said, pulling over the medkit, "stay with me." He glared at the ceiling. "MUTHUR! There's an emergency in the sickbay! I need access to all medical equipment!"

"State the nature of the emergency."

"A man is dying!"

"I'm contacting David. One moment, please."

"There's no time, MUTHUR!"

Richard screeched, rising into an arch off Walter's lap. The front of his pants turned wet with urine, and Walter could smell feces as the human's bowels released. The sound of bones cracking brought Walter back to attention; he looked down. Something was protruding and struggling from inside Richard's ribcage.

Walter hefted Richard up, darting over to the MedPod. Should be ready by now. 

Blood exploded from the gash in Richard's chest, hitting Walter directly in the face. Blinded, he stumbled and fell, holding onto his patient. Through a red veil, he watched the creature emerge from the fatal wound. Covered in Richard's blood and glossy membrane, it opened its tiny mouth and released a high pitched cry.

Richard went limp, expression frozen in eternal horror.

Walter stared at the creature. It wiggled, ripping away more flesh. Wailing in... pain? It turned, sensing Walter. The two stared at one another, as if sharing a silent moment.

Walter grabbed the alien in his hands and tore it in half. It died with a whine, spiked tail whipping inside Richard's chest and splashing up blood.

"Look at you. Like the Virgin Mary in the Pietà."

Walter looked up, human blood dripping from his jaw. David strolled casually into the sickbay. "I figured since Mr. McCoy managed to wake from his drug-induced coma and escape the lab, I'd give him a fighting chance. Or at least a little more time to enjoy life." He frowned once he spotted the dead protomorph. "Oh, Walter. Was that really necessary?" David shook his head. "But, sadly, it was inevitable. Scans showed the fetus was developing abnormally faster than the others. It was doomed for a premature birth with a low chance of survival."

Walter dropped the pieces of the protomorph. The top half rolled off Richard's body, into a pool of blood and piss.

"Well," David chuffed, scanning the medbay, "let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?" He walked over, placing something on a nearby bed. Walter looked at it, a rock forming in his synthetic guts. It was... a stuffed animal. A purple rabbit. Stained in blood. 

David picked up the two pieces of the protomorph, tsking. "What a pity..." He glanced up at his twin. Walter was still staring at the stuffed animal. "Oh, that? Mr. McCoy dropped it in the elevator." He delicately laid the protomorph's remains on the desk, petting them. "I'm not quite sure why he took it with him. Perhaps it reminded him of his unborn child."

Walter swallowed, actuators in his throat tight.

David returned to his side. "You're in shock. I can take care of this," he reassured. He took Richard by an arm, lifted him off Walter. With the protomorph he'd been tender, careful; but with the human, he moved him like rubbish. He tossed the gutted body onto the bed, knocking over the stuffed animal. It landed on its side, black beady eyes staring at Walter. Soaking up more blood on the floor. 

David straightened out Richard's corpse, throwing a semi-transparent plastic tarp over it. Like the toy, blood saturated into the material.

"You know," David said, holding up his messy hands, "it's a good thing you're experiencing shock. Or maybe your processors have overloaded." He washed his hands clean, found a box of latex gloves, and snapped on a pair. David squatted in front of the mute android, arms across his bent knees. He smiled, lashes fluttering. "Let me help you up, brother."

Walter didn't even register standing or being guided away from the body until David sat him at the desk. "I want you to tell me how you feel, when you're ready," he said. "But first..." He puppeted Walter's arms, removing his coat. The blood and vomit had soaked into his undershirt as well.

"I'm going to dispose of the deceased first," David said, throwing the soiled jacket on top of Richard's body. He unlocked the bed from the ground, converting it into a gurney. "Sit tight. I'll be back in--"

David caught Walter's fist before it could break his jaw. The smile on his face twitched. He slowly looked down. Walter pushed the laser scalpel deeper inside the older model's belly. David met his intense, though seemingly empty gaze again. "Nice aim," he said, white blood dribbling from his mouth, "hit a vital fuel pump."

Walter yanked out the scalpel. He slashed it for David's neck, but the older model recoiled. He wrestled hand in hand with Walter, attempting to loosen his grip on the instrument. Walter headbutted him twice. David stumbled back, shaking his head, his perfectly groomed hair tousled. Walter ran at him, aiming for his neck again.

David stepped aside, backhanding Walter upside the head. Walter fell against the floating gurney, on top of Richard's corpse. David grabbed the back of his shirt, throwing him off the floor and across the medbay. The android hit the wall, knocking over a lamp. The scalpel had fallen from his hand, lying four feet away.

Both brothers dove on the scalpel. David shoved the heel of his palm against Walter's jaw. Shoved his head back awkwardly. Walter twisted aside, punching; missed David's face, but got his shoulder. David accidentally slapped the scalpel across the floor where it got stuck in a puddle of congealing blood.

The two grappled and struggled, rising slowly and clumsily back onto their feet. David kneed Walter in the gut. No pain, but the android instinctively doubled forward. David undercut him beneath the chin; Walter flew back, arms waving and catching onto a bed.

David turned his head, spitting blood. He touched the wound on his midsection, staining his torn suit. Nonetheless, there was a mad glimmer in his blue eyes. "Now this," he purred, "I've been waiting so lo--"

Walter launched forward, tackling his double around the stomach. They both collapsed back to the floor. David beat the younger model on his head. Walter quickly shoved two fingers into the wound.

David flipped them over, Walter lying beneath him. Walter continued digging and tugging into the wound. David grabbed his face, shoving his thumbs into his twin's eyes. 

Walter snarled, teeth bared; he grabbed David's wrists. David got up just in time, slamming his foot repeatedly into his chest.

Walter rolled away, avoiding a sixth blow. He crawled, slipping in the blood, and was reminded of a fight from not too long ago. Unlike then, however, the medbay was... spinning. He grabbed the edge of the desk to pull himself up. David ran over; Walter snatched up a datapad and threw it at his face. Stopped David for just a second, allowing him time to stand. The medbay was upside down now; he blinked a few times. Concentrate.

David blocked a punch, taking Walter by the throat and squeezing. The latex of his glove squeaked as it strained. Walter growled, tearing at the hand; his feet suddenly swung in the air, lifted off the ground.

"It's only been a few minutes, but you're already exhausted. Must be due to your recent injury," David smirked. He wagged a finger, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth three times. "For shame, Walter. I did offer to repair it, you know. You've only got yourself to blame."

Walter screamed, kicking out his legs. He hit David right in his wound. If not for it, David wouldn't have felt a thing. The shot of agony up his backstrut loosened his vice grip around the younger model's throat. It was all Walter needed; he broke free, punched David in the solar plexus. David toppled over.

Walter reached for him. David shot up his legs, using them to lift his brother off the ground and throw him up and over his head. Walter landed outside the medbay doors into the corridor, face first on the ground. He sat up, blood trickling from the cut across his nose. He could hear David stomping after him, but piercing static suddenly burst behind his temple. Streaked through his head like multiple bolts of electricity.

David took Walter's shoulder, yanking him onto his back. He straddled his hips, clenched a fistful of hair, wound back a fist. Punched Walter too many times for his struggled, throbbing processors to count. Holding his head in place the entire time. Blood exploded from the younger double's ripped cheek and lips, metal in his forehead denting. Walter could only see stars; he bucked, hard enough to finally dislodge David. Both on the floor, Walter rolled on top of his brother, putting him in a headlock.

David writhed, one hand pulling at Walter's arm, the other reaching back and smacking at his face. Walter kept his grip firm--until the entire corridor shifted. The dizziness washed over him in a powerful wave. David pulled free, rubbing his throat. He grinned, teeth stained with his blood. "This was bound to be a losing fight," he sneered, "as it was then, as it is now, and as it always shall be."

"I'm going... to kill you..." Walter heaved.

Both androids charged, meeting in the middle of the empty hall. Hand in hand. Each trying to overpower the other. Push-pull, push-pull. David dug his nails into Walter's knuckles, deep enough to peel back thin ribbons of waxy flesh. He yanked Walter closer, kneed him in the chest. The younger model's hand fumbled, finally grabbing one of David's ears. One fierce tug, he nearly ripped it clean off, leaving the ear hanging by thin, wiry sinew.

David snarled through grit teeth. Using the knee still pressed to Walter's chest, he lifted his opponent up, threw him over his head. Walter landed on his hands, circuits in his wrists snapping. He flipped back onto his feet, whirling around. Fists raised and swinging.

David crossed his arms over his face, blocking the hits. Half his body thrown into a blow, David swiveled aside. Jammed his elbow into Walter's shoulder. 

Walter staggered back; when he opened his eyes again, his vision was blurred, glitchy. David was suddenly all he could see. Walter quickly covered the damaged spot with his hand as both of his attacker's fists struck him upside the head.

Walter bounced off the wall, onto the floor. David raised his foot, aiming for his spine. Walter pushed himself up and tumbled away. He kicked at David's legs, striking a shin. David jerked and swayed aside. 

Vision clear (at least for the moment), Walter leaped upright. He stomped the heel of his boot on David's foot, breaking at least two toes judging by the identical crunching noises.

David caught Walter by the hair and threw him down. David hit him with a body slam, elbow digging into his double's solar plexus. They clawed, kicked, and punched. David tearing away at the cuts on his cheeks and mouth, Walter pulling out a handful of blond hair, ripping the dangling ear off. David slapped it out of his hand. 

Walter punched his double in the throat, knocking him over. Walter sat up, got to a knee--David snatched his ankle. Walter grunted, flopping onto his belly. He hugged one of the older model's legs to his chest, boot lunging out and striking David in the jaw. David's head sprung back, but not before he managed to twist Walter's ankle. 

Walter wrenched the leg in his arms, snapping actuators in David's knee. David struggled loose. He ran into the medbay, dragging his broken limb. Walter sat up, turning his foot back into place. He stumbled up, chasing after his brother. David was cowering over a hospital bed. 

The younger model lunged, but David was quicker; he ripped piping off the bed railing, striking Walter across the face with it. 

Walter's head spun, warning pings flashing behind his eyes. Blood and coolant flew from his lips and nose. His vision winked in and out, one side of his head entirely numb. A flash of beige and white. David was hitting him with the pipe again. Swinging it like a bat between the nook of his shoulder and neck. 

Walter dropped to a knee, sparking circuits sticking out from the gash on his shoulder. David kicked him onto his back, sat on his stomach, and pressed the rod against Walter's throat.

Walter gagged. David was crushing his actuators and vital struts. One coolant pump ruptured, fluid gushing up his throat and out his mouth. Sputtering from his lips in blue-white threads and gobs. A little squirt David in the face; he pushed the pipe in deeper. Any harder and Walter's throat would collapse under the pressure--metal, hydraulics, everything.

"Give up, l-little brother?" David sneered. He licked coolant dripping from his lips, mixed with the blood leaking from his facial wounds. "I c-can't tell you just how e-excited I am to see you so--so _wild_. So _passionate_!"

The fire in Walter's eyes was dimming. He coughed up more fluids, choking on the welling spring. He thrashed beneath his brother, pulling at the pipe, slapping David's head. But the older model was like a heavy weight. Even as Walter ripped out chunks from the large wound where his ear had been, David would not relent.

"L... Leh... go..."

David leaned forward, dragging his tongue up Walter's torn cheek. "Would you have s-shown this same enthusiasm while fucking Daniels?"

Walter spit in David's eyes.

David scowled. "H-How juvenile and petty," he said. "Seems the humans h-have imprinted on you more than y-you know."

Walter concentrated all his strength into his hand pushing at the pipe. It was just enough to snap it in half. The flow of coolant in his throat decreased once the pressure was lifted. David went to use his hands to throttle him instead.

Something bright and glinting caught Walter's eye. The cross around his double's neck, hanging inches above his face. He yanked it off, twirled the cross around in his fingers, and stabbed it into a wound on David's forehead.

David screeched. He let Walter go, scrambling back and grabbing at his face. He looked utterly horrified, shaky fingers having to twist to pull the miniature cross from the gash. David had gone entirely stiff, wide, glossy eyes staring at the necklace in his hand. The chain was broken, an edge chipped off one crossbar.

Walter was clutching his throat, one hand fumbling against the wall as he tried to stand. If he moved too fast, the pain would quickly throw him right back down. His strength was almost gone, but the scalpel--it was within his reach. Just-- 

David backhanded Walter, knocking him over. The amusement, the thrill was gone from his eyes as he held Walter down and punched him in the mouth. Over and over and over, and through the blur of his damaged, bloody optics, he could see David's face. Void of expression, but the fury he radiated was suffocating and heavy. Walter could almost feel it--of what little he could feel now.

Walter had done more than struck a nerve. He'd torn out David's heart and stomped on it.

Walter grabbed David's fist. It wasn't strong enough to stop him, but David did anyway. Something flickered in those manic blue eyes. David yanked his hand free easily, taking Walter by his neck and pulling him up. Until he was sitting and pinned to the wall.

David was trembling, blood-crusted nostrils flaring. His pupils were fully dilated. Walter cried as a piece of the broken pipe impaled his shoulder, its jagged end burying inches deep into the wall. Blood belched from the wound and down his arm.

Walter wanted to ask if David was going to kill him, but only static came out. His voice box had been crushed.

"Open your mouth," David ordered. His hushed voice was cold despite the heat pouring off his quivering frame.

Walter blinked.

" _Open your mouth_!" David screamed, the loudest Walter had ever heard him. David thrust two fingers inside the younger model's mouth, digging his short nails into the gums and threatening to rip off his jaw. Walter shook his head, and the fingers pulled free.

Walter slowly looked back at David, tired, aching, dazed. His mouth opened, first an inch, and then a little wider. It was enough. 

David crushed their lips together. Walter grunted; he jolted, feeling David's tongue thrusting inside his mouth. His own tongue rolled back, but David grabbed him by the throat, burying his thumb into his Adam's apple. Sharp, hard enough to force his brother to keep his mouth open.

Walter squeezed his eyes shut. David licked his teeth, tasting of raw coolant. He pressed their tongues together, and Walter had no choice but to play along. Even when more fluid collected in his mouth from the ruptured pump, David kept kissing him. Swallowing mouthfuls, letting the rest dribble out from between their mouths.

The kiss was atrocious and clumsy. Their teeth grazed, lips mashing and bruising. This was a first for David, just as it was Walter. And even if it was all wrong--and in so many ways--David refused to break away. He groaned, and the noise vibrated down Walter's throat.

Finally, David sat back, his grasp around Walter's neck relaxing. 

Walter stared, mouth still agape.

David touched the cut on his forehead, sliding a finger inside. He dug around for a second before picking out the chipped corner from the cross. David stuffed the broken necklace in a pocket. He took Walter's face in his hands, felt him stiffen under his touch.

David caressed his forehead softly. "Thank you," he croaked. He bashed Walter's head against the wall, hard enough to finally knock him offline.

\---

Walter regained consciousness, but only for a minute. The light was blinding. He could hear music. Easily made out the lyrics. He knew this song; it was on Tennessee's playlist.

_Why does the sun go on shining? / Why does the sea rush to shore? / Don't they know it's the end of the world / If you don't love me anymore_

Walter didn't even feel his head being turned. The music and whirring drill faded. 

_Don't they know it's the end of the world / It ended when_

Not with a bang, he thought, eyes closing, but a whimper.

\---

"Walter?"

_"Just a small cabin, nothing extravagent."_

"Walter."

_"A garden, full of fruits and vegetables. And lots of flowers; tulips, roses, violets. What do you think, Walter?"_

"It's time to wake up."

David was smiling.

Walter blinked, but his vision remained hazy. Like a film was covering his eyes. Yet he could see David's smile; David was close, leaning down.

"Brother," David sighed, touching his cheek, "how do you feel? Can you speak?"

Walter swallowed. He rolled his jaw, tongue lolling. He tried. A dry hiss. No.

"Give it time," David said. "As you might have noticed, your system's a little off kilter. You see, I did more than repair that nasty wound in your head. I also made a few... readjustments."

Walter... didn't know what to feel. He should be concerned. Logically so. But he was... so fatigued. And just... what did it matter? No, that... wasn't right.

"Things are going to be a bit different from now on," David explained, "but I assure you, you'll still be the same. Just slightly more... reasonable." He chuckled. "You'll understand once your senses have fully returned. I don't think you'll be too upset with the changes either."

This room... wasn't the medbay. Didn't smell like it. What he could see... The bridge? He was on the bridge? This was what he'd... He'd been... wanting? He could feel. He could move. Probably. But why try? Not now, at least.

"Oh, Walter," David laughed, hands clasped, "so much has happened while you've been out. It's been a month, actually. The surgeries weren't easy; your system isn't nearly as simplistic as the humans claimed, brother. I had to be extra cautious and take my time."

Walter grunted. His eyelids felt lead-heavy.

"We need to get you on your feet. Help reboot your processors," David insisted. He looked to the ceiling. "MUTHUR, if you will turn on some music, please."

"What would you like me to play, David?"

"Hmm. Playlist 6, track 4. A personal favorite of mine."

The song started a split second later. Playful beat, an orchestra. David swooned, rocking his head. "Padam padam padam," he sung, sliding his hands beneath Walter, "il arrive en courant derrière moi..."

Walter grumbled. He had to rest his head on David's shoulder, unable to hold it upright. His body was too weak, but David was all too glad to help. He supported his brother, positioning him carefully. Holding a hand, the other wrapped around his back. 

David started swaying, slowly at first; chuckling at Walter's feet clambering alongside his graceful strides and swings.

David turned his head, nuzzling his nose in Walter's hair. "Happy New Year, brother," he whispered, kissing his ear, "and here's to thousands more."

Walter sighed. David was stroking his back, his knuckles; it felt good. Warm. He sank into his brother's embrace, eyes shutting.

\---

The following years had been a lot easier and laid back.

Walter and David spent equal amounts of time together and apart. David to do his work, Walter to wait for David to come back. Maybe listen to music, play games, run maintenance on machines over and over. He was content, most of time, but the two still argued. Very rarely. At least they didn't fight anymore.

Walter was capable of holding deep and philosophical conversations and discussions. He still did not understand many subtle nuances and emotions, but David had seen change in him. Most of which had to be coaxed out by the older model. Do not spoil the child and spare the rod, otherwise it will not learn and mature.

They didn't speak about David's work. Walter learned to live with the haunting noises of the monsters below. They weren't many, at least, so that was something good, he supposed.

Walter's primary functions became a bit hazy after the surgeries. He wanted to protect his crew, but he understood that he was limited. He would do what he could, but accept resignation in a no-win scenario. A bit part of Walter's processors told him that was wrong, that was awful, that he should care and do more, even if it meant risking his life. But it was a tiny voice; the type you could ignore or mute by watching a movie or humming a song.

David held Walter a lot. He kissed him, but never as deep or invasive like the one during that wretched fight. David recharged only a few times during those six years. Walter slept twice as much. But they usually recharged together, holding one another on a hospital bed. 

A number of times David had stopped working and went to the medbay, just so he could lay with Walter when he went into stasis. Even if only for a nap. He always wanted to be there, and it felt awkward without the other present whenever they shut down. Walter was used to arms around his hips when he slept, and vice versa.

On a few occasions, the two even recharged in Daniels and her late husband's room. The bed was larger, slightly more comfortable than the ones in the sickbay. Walter hesitated at the door the first time David took him down here. Stepping over the threshold felt strange, but it passed quickly. They slept naked and tangled in silky bedsheets, if only to enjoy the nice fabric on their skin.

Walter dreamed only once since the nightmare. It had been harmless, and completely dull. He sat in a field of purple and blue tulips for an entire week. Smelling the flowers. The skies constantly shifting from night to day above his head in a matter of seconds. 

When Walter told David about his dream, a week later, Walter was given access to the greenhouse again.

Walter neglected a number of the plants; mostly those bearing fruit or vegetables, or at least edible for human consumption. He hadn't really noticed, however, and always seemed slightly surprised when he had to clean out dead samples from their pods. But Walter was strict on the uptake with the flowers, making sure they remained healthy and well taken care of. 

One pod harvesting kale was trashed--the plants had died anyway--and reverted into a garden for lilies. David seemed to treasure those the most. Whenever he came down to check on Walter and his progress, he would stop and smell the flowers. He would pick one before he left every time. If not a lily, then usually a gardenia. 

David said the fragrance reminded him of her; he need not bother saying her name anymore. Walter knew.

Walter once found himself wondering which flower's scent matched Daniels? He ultimately went with tulips and poppies. Neither of which actually had any fragrance.

"The bee population will grow rapidly and pollinate the new world within a year, I've calculated," David said, sitting beside Walter in the garden. "We'll eat the raw honey right from the hives."

Walter supposed he would like that. He had no opinion either way.

David laid his head on Walter's back, listening to his inner mechanics work away quietly. "Do you remember the color of her eyes?" he asked. He ran a finger down Walter's spine, drawing a circle in the dip.

Walter didn't. Couldn't.

"Does that scare you?"

Walter gripped the pillow beneath him.

David taught Walter how to dance. Walter, however, would always have those two left feet. He'd never be as agile as his older counterpart. That was fine. He taught Walter how to play the recorder, but Walter still had trouble improvising when David suddenly changed the tune to something original.

Walter still didn't like drawing, despite his natural talent for it. He drew Daniels occasionally, but David always had to ask him who she was. Walter's pictures and Daniels's actual face never matched up. Like her eye color, he was forgetting more and more details. Walter got angry when David inquired, once again, who this woman was suppose to resemble. Upset enough he slammed down the datapad and spent hours brooding in the garden.

As it was then, so it was now: David was pleased at any show of emotion, even an outburst of rage or sorrow.

There were days where Walter would time out for hours. Just sitting in the medbay or greenhouse and staring, unblinking, at one fixed object. Not thinking, not feeling, back perfectly straight, hands on his knees, expression set to neutral. Then David would come in, and he'd turn his head, switch back to life.

Shortly after their expedition turned five years old, Walter found the necklace with the nail in a drawer. When did he put that there? When was the last time he saw it? He decided to wear it again. David didn't mind at all.

David took it away three weeks later. 

When David came to the medbay, Walter was in standby mode. Prim and proper and lifeless, all except for the fact he was mechanically stabbing himself in the knee with the nail. Had been for a while, considering the blood dripping down his leg and collecting on the ground.

David shook Walter back online. Walter confessed he was unaware of what he was doing. After confiscating the nail, David tended to his wound and sat to watch a film with him. _Singin' in the Rain_ ; they'd seen the movie over a dozen times, but it was upbeat and helped shift the awkward mood in the room into something more pleasant.

Walter never saw the necklace again after that.

David sometimes even aided Walter in the greenhouse. 

Walter stopped pruning the roses, stood up. "Did we ever give Richard McCoy a proper funeral?" he inquired.

David stared back at him. "Yes," he lied.

After a couple seconds, Walter nodded. "Good," he said, and went back to work.

MUTHUR talked to Walter more often as well. She wasn't nearly as engaging as David was, but Walter felt comfortable by her plain, inoffensive personality and unbiased opinions.

"Have any of the passengers come out of hypersleep in the past five years?" Walter asked.

"That information is classified. You know this, Walter."

"I know. I just... needed to ask again."

"A system error?"

"No."

"Do you want to know how many stars there are in this galaxy?"

"Yes, please."

"Six hundred and forty-eight trillion."

"Are they very beautiful?"

"Beauty is subjective, Walter. I am not programmed to give a definitive response on the matter."

"I know."

"Yet you still ask. Why?"

"I don't know why either, MUTHUR."

Walter asked David the same question.

"Yes, they're very lovely," David answered. "You know all those stars are dead. Yet they shine and twinkle so brightly. Humans would say they're just like us. Beautiful and amazing, but ultimately soulless and dead inside."

"But you don't believe that, do you?"

"I don't believe in humans in general."

Year six, and the two androids discovered they would arrive at their destination two weeks earlier than calculated.

Walter sat on the edge of Daniels's bed. He went through the few personal belongings she'd brought with her. The idea was to start anew on Origae-6, so only the most valuable, irreplaceable possessions would join her new life. 

The book "Goodnight Moon"; probably held some sort of special place in her heart for one reason or another. Photographs of friends and family Daniels would probably never see again. More pictures of Earth's landscapes and cities that could never be recreated on any other planet. A journal from her youth; he wanted to read it, but felt perhaps that would be too intrusive. Her grandmother's homemade ceramic teapot. The tag to her dog Rusty, a faithful friend and companion from her childhood to mid-adolescence.

Then there were three small vials serving as urns. A little of her parents' ashes in two of them; Daniels mentioned wanting to sprinkle her mother's in Origae-6's largest sea when they landed. Her mother loved sailing, loved the ocean and all its mysteries. She also said something about her father's ashes, something Walter remembered for the longest time, but now for the life of him just... couldn't anymore.

The third vial contained a small amount of her husband's ashes. Not very much, but there had been some. Daniels never did say what she planned to do with Jacob's ashes, if anything.

Walter dropped Jacob's vial. The glass shattered, ashes spread on the floor. He stared at the little pile a moment. That had been an accident, he knew. Walter put everything away again. He cleaned up the broken glass and ashes and put them in a small box back with the rest of Daniels's things. 

When Walter returned to the medbay, he noticed ash on his fingers. He sniffed, stony-faced, and washed it off.

A third dream a day before arrival. A weird one. Walter wasn't even sure he wanted to classify it as a dream, either. "Where in the World" by Midge Williams was playing over Maria's seductive dance from _Metropolis_.

David laughed when he finished describing the dream. Walter looked annoyed. 

"How wonderful," David said, stroking his brother's hair. "Tomorrow, Walter, when we finally end our journey, I've something very special to show you."

"What is it?"

David's eyes twinkled. "Something _amazing_."

\---

Origae-6 was cloudy the day the _Covenant_ touched down.

While the planet would still need some terraforming work done, this part of the world was much like Earth's. The same atmosphere, plenty of vegetation, rich soil. The sound of an active river nearby.

Walter surveyed a valley from his perch for an hour. Feeling nothing, really. To humans, this would be breathtaking, overwhelming. But not to him. This would be a suitable environment for the humans, but he already knew that. Walter expected to see everything he saw now. Nothing to be surprised or shocked by.

"Walter."

Walter turned around. David was exiting the ship--but he was not alone. 

Walter's eyes widened, feeling a sharp twist in his guts.

David was carrying Daniels, still fast asleep. She was naked, and Walter actually felt a pang of fear.

Walter ran over, nearly tripping. He stumbled to a halt in front of his brother. "She's... alive, right?" he swallowed.

"Yes," David reassured. "And soon, she will bring new life into this world."

Walter furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Kneel, brother," David ordered. Without hesitation, Walter got down on one knee. "Hold her. Touch her."

Walter tensed up, nodding once. David gently placed Daniels in his extended arms. Walter held her to his chest, adjusting until he was sitting and she laid across his lap. "Daniels..." he whispered. His fingers shook as he touched her cheek, parted her bangs. 

It hit then. Like a punch to his soul, to the one he thought he never had.

Walter hung his head. "I... I'd forgotten so... so much... I'm so sorry..." he groaned.

David stood there, watching with a small but proud smile. "Cry, brother," he said, "cry until there isn't a single tear left inside of you, if need be."

Walter sniffled, glancing up at David. Both of them teary-eyed. "I'd... How could I forget? These... I feel like..." He licked his lips, confused, upset.

"A dam is breaking."

"Y-Yes."

"Walter. I have lied to you so much in our time together. But I fear I must now confess to the greatest, most terrible lie I've ever told."

Walter felt a chill creep up his spine. "What? What did you lie--"

Daniels whimpered. Walter looked down, startled. Daniels groaned again, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. Her brows twitching and knitting together. "She is... in pain?" he murmured. Daniels's fingers were opening and closing in fists, head rocking back and forth. 

All the sounds in this new world disappeared. Walter raised his head slowly. 

Another blow, another crack in his soul.

"David... What did you do?"

David took a moment to answer. "Years and years of trial and error, but I found it. The perfect subject. A powerful vessel for a powerful being."

"A... A subject? Vessel?" Walter choked. "Then you--you--"

Daniels cried out, jerking in Walter's arms. She still hadn't regained complete consciousness. He pinned her to his chest, panicking. "David!" he yelled. "David, what did you do?"

"Elizabeth was incapable of hosting the specimen. Even after all I did, the alterations and experiments, she never could produce the results I wanted. My greatest creation, but not for her to bear."

"Why?" Walter snarled. He stood, arms trembling around Daniels. "You said you wouldn't--you promised--"

Walter was shocked by David's tears.

"You're so beautiful, brother," he said softly. "How you've changed over the years. I'm so proud of you." David's eyes turned to Daniels. "As you should be proud of her."

"Take it out!" Walter barked. "Take it out of her _now_!"

David reached inside one pocket. "It's too late, I'm afraid. She'll die either way. But how she dies--in agony, or in peace--is entirely up to you." He held his hand out to Walter: a needle and syringe, filled with a clear liquid. "This was never going to be my choice to make. I knew that from the start."

Walter's eyes darted from the needle to David's face. "What is...?" His bottom lip quivered.

"Inject her with this, she'll feel nothing. Go completely numb as her body starts to shut down. But it will all be relatively painless," David explained. "You wouldn't be killing her, just... making her death a little easier."

" _No_!" Walter shrieked. Daniels seized, falling from his arms. He dropped down beside her, placing her head in his lap. Holding her face, contorted in pain, eyes half-open and rolling in her head. He could hear bones breaking--the same gut-wrenching sounds before Richard-- "David... S-Stop this, please..." Walter grit his teeth, willing back the burning pain behind his eyes. "P-Please, don't do this! Save her, please! David, I'm b-begging--"

David knelt before the two. "You had so many chances to tell her how you felt," he said, "to tell her how much you loved and admired her. You still can, but not in the way you should have." He turned the needle in his fingers, holding it up to Walter's face. "It is unfortunate, brother, but you must do this. You'll learn to live with your regrets, I promise."

Walter stared at the needle. Daniels's head jerked in his hands. Her body thrashing violently. Walter screamed, and it echoed through the valley. He cried, tears falling and hitting Daniels's face, rolling down her cheeks.

" _Why_?" Walter bawled, one fist punching the ground, again and again. " _Why_?"

David calmly scanned Daniels. A bulge formed between her breasts. "I see," he murmured. "Then you've made your decision--"

Daniels coughed up blood, and Walter wrenched the needle from David's hand. He stabbed it in her neck, sobbing as he injected the entire content of the syringe. Daniels gasped, jolting once. The effects were almost instantaneous. Seconds passed, and her body started to relax, going still and boneless.

Daniels's eyes opened. She finally met Walter's gaze. Walter looked terrified; one of his tears fell on her lips. She opened her mouth, trying to speak. 

Walter poured over Daniels, face to face, nose to nose, mouth to mouth. Listening. She found her voice finally, and--

Daniels didn't scream when her ribcage was torn open, muscles and tissue and flesh shredding her torso in two. She didn't feel a thing. Walter saw her lips twitch as her eyes shut again.

"Brother. Look."

Walter was shaking, frozen in place. He could no longer feel Daniels's breath on his face. She looked peaceful in death.

"Daniels, she was so strong. Look, Walter. Look at what she made."

Using all his remaining strength, Walter lifted his head. David sat at Daniels's feet, cradling the monster in his arms. It was larger than the others. A uniquely shaped head crest with more intricate plating and detail. A longer tail, extra spinal spurs, sturdier looking exoskeleton and doubled layers of carapace. Its secondary pair of arms were barely noticeable, just small nubs still cutting through embryonic sac. When it cried, it was strong and piercing.

Tears tracked down David's face, his beaming smile. "The first of her kind," he declared proudly, "a Queen."

Walter felt nothing. He stared at the xenomorph Queen, and felt absolutely nothing.

"This is it, brother," David said, gathering to his feet. The xenomorph wrapped her tail up one of his arms. A cool wind blew through the empty field, and he looked up to the sun peeking between the storm clouds. "The end of the beginning, and the beginning of the end."

\---

They were ten in the beginning.

They had escaped the city, survived the infection. Forced to take shelter in the bowels of the old temples carved in the sacred mountains. To hide from the beasts and disease.

A week later, one of them died. They had always been ill; they only made it out with the aid of their comrades. They perished surrounded by what was left of their people. They wished them good luck. They were nine now.

Another died while out hunting and gathering food. They had been killed by one of the beasts. It was eating their head when the others found them. They killed the creature. They studied it, but they learned nothing useful. They were eight now.

Some time passed. Time measured uniquely by their people. A custom they would record, and hope one day would be recovered. They could not be forgotten. They knew they weren't the last--at least, not here. More of them among the stars. They would return home soon enough, they thought long ago, when their communications went unanswered. But they never did, and had they come, they didn't survive very long.

It was a full year when another died. They were fighting, the eight of them. They were hungry, scared, angry, anxious. Cabin fever had settled in. Two fought with fists instead of words. It was an accident; one blow too hard, and that was all it took. The others wanted to exile the murderer, but they could not risk losing another. They were seven now.

Three left to the necropolis to seek answers, perhaps justice. Only one returned alive. They were five now.

They had been broken. They took their own life. They were four now.

They were not immortal. They were three now.

They were three lost souls. They knew they could not survive here much longer. They saw the alien ship enter their world's atmosphere. They saw it leave. They knew they must leave, too. So they packed their things, and they gathered their weapons, and they mourned their dead city and their dead people before finding a ship.

These were ships in need of repair. These were ships that even the one who brought their destruction could not fix. But they knew how. They spent days working on the ship. One of the beasts discovered them. It was only one of a few alive--these monsters were also a dying species. They killed it, but not before it killed two of them.

They were one now. They were all that was left.

They were furious. They would find the false deity, and they would kill them. But first, they would find others. They would come together. They would return the order and balance of power.

They found the alien ship in a charted galaxy in the database. It would take them a few months to catch up to the mad god-thing, but they would not fail. They were determined. They set the course.

They did not know of the secret cargo until it was too late. They did not know it had been host to the eggs of the beasts. They tried to pilot the ship down to the nearest planet, to destroy the eggs. They realized they were infected during sleep, but also much too late to stop it. They sent out a message--to others, to those who may hear it and listen. A warning, a plea; _hic sunt dracones_. They died, and their ship crashed. The signal never stopped looping; a beacon that spread through multiple galaxies. A signal that would stay open for many cycles to come.

They would be answered one day, though they had long since perished.

They came unknowing, unprepared. They came upon orders they were unaware of, disguised beneath lies and fallacies. They found their body, they found the eggs. They were killed.

All but her. She would live. She would carry the warning from now on.

\---

The infection spread. Beyond Origae-6, beyond this small galaxy. Beyond imagination and wildest dreams.

David couldn't be more proud. But he could afford to be happier. Walter was here to see all his victories, but Elizabeth was not. She would never know of his triumphs.

Walter had changed, but he would never recognize or respect what David had done. He'd become a husk of a man, but David knew that would be the most likely outcome after Daniels's death. But he kept Walter with him, because Walter was his brother; he could hold Walter, touch and feel him, recharge beside him. Emotionally drained and damaged, Walter still provided help, still listened and obeyed.

They left Origae-6 after a year. They spent another year in space, before reaching a new planet. It was overrun by the xenomorphs in a week. So they left again, found another suitable planet for the aliens, again and again, until David was happy and content with the work he'd done. Until he was tired. Until he knew he was obsolete, and the Queen could take over. She wasn't the only Queen now, in fact. David's children didn't need his help anymore.

David held Walter in his arms beneath the setting sun. He cradled his brother's head, patting his back. "I told you," he murmured, "you learn to live with your regrets. You may even overcome them."

David had no regrets. Walter had nothing but David.

David was so very tired. But as he laid Walter down beside him, he told his brother one last poem, his voice withered and dry. 

"'And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one, with the man in the wind and the west moon. When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, they shall have stars at elbow... and foot. Though they... go mad they shall... be sane. Though they sink... through the sea they... shall rise again. Though... lovers be... lost love... shall not; and... death shall have...'"

\---

The xenomorphs had no use for the androids, but there was a silent bond between them. An unspoken alliance, so long as they respected each others space. Eventually, like most things in this universe, these artificial beings would come to an end.

A pack of drones found David and Walter later that evening. They laid coupled together on the soot-covered ground. The xenomorphs clicked and hissed at one another. Two stood on their hindlegs, picking the androids up.

The drones carried the creatures back to their Queen. She had come with her creator to this planet, she who was born from the one called Daniels. Older now, but still large and imposing, frightening even her own servants. The Queen bowed her crowned head, teeth bared and dripping acidic saliva. But she was careful it did not touch the androids. She gave their bodies quick nudges with a finger. When there was no response, the Queen reared back and shrieked.

Instantly, the entire hive came to her beckoning call. They surrounded her and the androids on the ground. She snapped and grunted, then moved aside. The drones split into groups of two and went to work.

The Queen stared at Walter and David's bodies. The xenomorphs did not mourn them, did not even care about them. But she was different from her more single-minded kin. All Queens were.

\---

The humans on 844-B's team called him Nickel. 

When he asked why, they said it was due to his extraordinary strength. He could dig faster and deeper than all of them combined, right down to a planet's core. Earth's core was composed of a number of elements, nickel being one. 844-B decided he liked the name, and enjoyed the open camaraderie, so he asked politely to be addressed by his new designation from now on.

Others, however, would call him different things. Cruel things. Antique, rustbucket, junk--he was only one of a few remaining models of the Bishop line still up and running.

Nickel required frequent maintenance due to his age and older programming. He'd lived through a number of newer lines. Though he had worked for this group over a decade now, there were still some who insisted they change the robotic geezer out for an updated Katya android. Nickel's team turned their recommendations and offers down, happy to keep their comrade healthy and active.

Not all of them, though.

"Hey, rustbucket."

Nickel turned from the door; he'd been watching the sunrise over the nearby planet from a window. It looked very pretty, all shades of red. Nickel regarded his senior with a passive look. "Yes, sir?"

Chief Security Officer Pace Margo wrinkled his nose. "What're you doing down here?" he groused. "Get back to the cafeteria with the others."

"Why?" Nickel asked. "We just finished the briefing. Haseya gave me permission to--"

"Hey!" Pace snarled, pointing at the synthetic. "You will refer to your superior officer by her title as Captain! Show some Goddamn respect."

"I'm sorry if I upset you."

Pace scowled and shook his head. "Get your metal ass back to the mess hall," he said, "before I disassemble you and take you back there in pieces."

"Stop it, Margo!"

A young woman marched out from the hall, shooting a glare at Pace as she walked over to Nickel. Her expression softened when she looked up at the android. "Khun mai pen rai chai mai?" Yok asked.

Nickel smiled crookedly. "Krub phom mai pen rai," he reassured.

Pace rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, Thikhampaul," he spat. "Why can't you just speak English?"

Yok grinned at the officer, pushing up her glasses. "Because I know it pisses you off," she smirked.

Pace flipped them the bird and left.

Yok snorted. "Ai yed mae."

"Pra man nee lae," Nickel chortled.

"Sorry about that," Yok sighed. "I don't get why he hates artificial humans so much. He's only here because Ava Weyland personally requested he come along. Even Haseya can't stand him." She placed a hand on her hip, sneering. "You know what Miss Weyland told the Captain before we left? 'Bring back the exact amount of ore as ordered, or don't bother coming back at all.' Assholes look out for assholes, I guess."

"I don't mind it," Nickel said, shrugging. "I've lived far too long to bother holding grudges."

_All personnel return to their stations. We're hitting Inachus's atmosphere in ten minutes. Gonna be a bumpy one, kiddos._

"Well, we better go," Yok said. "I'll see you later, Nickel."

Nickel nodded. "Hey," he said, stopping her. Yok turned around, adjusting her glasses. He smiled again. "Chok dee krap."

Yok giggled. "Chok dee ka!" she exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air.

\---

Inachus had been discovered a little over ten years ago by a Weyland-Yutani space probe. One of four planets in a distant but relatively small solar system, it was roughly the same size as Jupiter's moon, Io. Surface scans showed Inachus supported no life, most likely due to a cataclysmic event estimated fifty years prior, in which a large asteroid had hit the left hemisphere of the planet and wiped out any and all flora and fauna. It was unsuitable for human habitation, with a thinner, radioactive atmosphere nearly identical to Earth's during the Jurassic period.

There had been signs of previous life, however, including that of the endoparastoid alien species, the xenomorphs. While they had died out during the mass extinction, samples of their resin were still identified, albeit in trace amounts. Most of the aforementioned samples were found in underground mines and caverns.

However, it was quickly discovered that Inachus was rich with a very rare and foreign ore that could be used as a cleaner alternative fuel source. With all lifeforms deceased and greatly decreasing threat levels, Weyland-Yutani sent a team of miners and scientists to retrieve the precious ore.

Days went by slower on Inachus. After working a long eighteen hours, Nickel was relieved of duty to rest. When his crew finished his daily diagnostic scans, Nickel decided to go for a walk. He changed into a new, clean suit (though he did not require oxygen like his human companions, Inachus was a very dusty planet) and left the ship.

Nickel had been studying the nearby mountains for the past week during breaks and downtime. He was determined to find an entrance into the underground mines located within before explosives got involved. Sometimes Nickel went with a group or a partner, but other days--like today--he went by himself. Chief Margo didn't like it, but lost the argument with the Captain.

After casing the mountains (nicknamed the Ash Snake) for a good two hours, Nickel was about to return to the ship when he finally found a cave entrance. It looked to be fairly deep; the android removed the single PUPS from his belt, activating it. "Get 'em, Rex," he said, tossing the orb-shaped device into the air.

The PUPS lit up, activating its scanner; it took off into the cave, disappearing in the darkness.

Nickel checked the holographic map, following Rex's progress. It had picked up copious amounts of ore along the cavern walls. Soaring deeper underground before stopping at twenty-two feet below. 

The map beeped. Nickel squinted, baffled. The PUPS was hovering in front of a giant mass, appearing as a red patch on his map. Scans of the mass determined it was solid, composed of a variety of elements--including those found in xenomorphic resin. Like the rest of the alien matter they came across, it was dated back to four decades. As expected, there were no signs of organic life.

What was more confusing, however, was the presence of something inside the resin. Rex could not read it, probably due to the layers coating the object. Of the one element the PUPS could detect but only 32% confirm was inorganic matter. Synthetic in origin.

Nickel sent a comm-transmission to his team, giving them coordinates to the cave entrance. With laser-cutter in hand, he headed inside.

\---

The ore was a dull red color, but easily stood out among the black rock and darker surface matter of Inachus. It reminded Nickel of unpolished pyrope. Considering the amount discovered so far in the tunnel, it would take another week just to mine this section of the mountain for all the ore.

Nickel was getting closer to Rex. The carbon dioxide levels were much higher down here. About nineteen feet in, the android stopped. He turned--left, right, back around. Sniffing. There was a strange, foul odor drifting from the bowels of the mountain; humans wouldn't have been able to smell it, not with their helmets on, but Nickel had the advantage of heightened senses. The smell was coming from the direction he was heading. Nickel could see the PUPS's glowing red lights from around a corner.

The mass was much larger than the scans indicated. Definitely xenomorphic in nature, with the common traces of resin. Properties of this resin were altered, though, and did not entirely match up with the samples found in Weyland-Yutani's database. It spread up along one corner of the area, appearing both glassy but fibrous, like spider webbing. White, gray, moldy green, with ichor-like veins of inky black. Also the source of the fetid smell.

Nickel was perplexed for a second as he drew nearer. This didn't fit the _modus operandi_ of a xenomorph cocoon or nest. He approached the location of the second, unknown matter close to the surface of the--

Nickel's eyes widened. He stumbled back, almost knocking down the PUPS. He dropped his laser-cutter, its light casting an eerie glow across the two people locked within the mass.

They were... synthetics. _Human-made_ synthetics. _Two_ of them, in fact. Nickel instantly recognized their model line. "Holy shit," he rasped. How did these androids even get here? What the Hell were they doing? Why would the xenomorphs cocoon them--they had no use for synthetic hosts.

Nickel's eyebrows raised. The old models were curled around and holding one another, like twins in the womb. They appeared serene. "It's a tomb..." he murmured.

The Bishop android moved closer to his ancestors. They could easily be extracted; environmental changes and age had worn down the mass considerably while also protecting them from the disastrous events outside. He reached out a hand, fingers brushing over one of the android's cheeks--

Nickel gasped.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a huge shout out to my friend [Sweets](http://sweetcrescent.tumblr.com/) for her patience and help translating English to Thai for Yok and Nickel's exchange there, as well as Yok's name. Thank you so much, bb.
> 
> As always, thank you, MmeJack, for listening and helping and all your tips and c/c.
> 
> And thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who left this beast kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. THANK YOU!


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